Love and War
by Eyes like Dawn
Summary: Garrosh has fallen in love with the new Dragonmaw Warcheif Zaela. Does she feel the same? Amidst tradgedy can love break through two stubborn hearts? Slightly based on the 'Bringing down the Mountain' quest chain. Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

_A:N- I fell in love with them both after I finished the quest chain at Dragonmaw port. I just got this really good vibe for them both. Also, based sort of on the 'Bringing down the mountain' quest chain._

**Blizzard owns Warcraft. I own nothing!**

**~8~8~**

She was strong. That was the first thing that sprang into Garrosh's mind as he watched the new Dragonmaw leader, Zaela, walk towards him. Beautiful was the second, as the sun shimmered upon her ashen gray skin, glinting with the sweat of battle and blood. One expertly cared for pauldron sat on her left shoulder, Garrosh could see marks and bruises where another had rested but had probably been shattered or damaged in battle. Dark red hair, once bound behind the orcess, but now free, fell around her face extenuating her small ivory tusks, and soft brown eyes; the only part of her Garrosh guessed was soft. She knelt before him in posterity, her voice commanding but reverent in its own husky growl.

"Warchief, Garrosh. Your people have aided mine in overthrowing our tyrannical ruler. For that we willingly ally ourselves with our kin. For the Horde!"

Zaela's eyes, sparkling with dying battle lust, made Garrosh's knees weak, he found his tongue thick as if coated with molasses and refusing to work properly on its own volition. He extended his hand to help her rise, using all his will to keep it from trembling, his voice gruff, to hide his nervousness. "Welcome to the Horde, Warchief Zaela. Lok'Tar Ogar!"

The survivors of the rebellion cheered fervently relishing in the victory over the dread fel orcs who had once ruled them with an unyielding, cruel, iron fist before the real work had to get under way. No amount of celebration could over shadow the fact they were surrounded by enemies with a venerable village and wounded warriors. As the old Dragonmaw saying went, they were a drake with a broken wing.

As the crowds began to disperse, both leaders strode, side by side, into the battle scarred clan hall silently. The hall still showed signs of battle, by the splats of blood on the walls and the rank smell of fel orc still wafting through the air. The body of the former Warchief had been cleared away and dumped in the sea, leaving only a large splotch of black blood that told a body had once lain there. Zaela went around, fetching a few non damaged sitting furs twisting her way through discarded or lost weapons that had been scattered on the floor.

No matter how hard he tried, Garrosh could not draw his gaze away from her swaying hips. They mesmerized him, his brown eyes following every move they made. Scolding himself almost instantly after coming back to his senses he shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was not naïve to what this was, he was attracted to her. Of course he had had his share of lovers, spying them across a room, making his heart leap and his thoughts dance around things they might do later. It was nothing like this, though, it was more than lust, something far more, something different. He didn't know where to embrace it or fight it.

Zaela dusted the furs off slightly, placing them in the center of the room as was custom, and Garrosh put those thoughts away momentarily, business before pleasure of course. Her fur, Garrosh noticed, she placed directly over the large blood spot of the former Warcheif, and couldn't contain a grin; she was the type who liked to rub her conquest in. Once they had seated, Garrosh felt the nervousness he had when first meeting Zaela come surging back. It was infuriating how she could make him loose his head with out even trying.

Zaela began speaking about her people's history and how they would aid their new allies. She spoke of the glorious Dragonmaw drake riders, perilous and ferocious, their ongoing battle with the accursed Wildhammer, and how they ransacked the dwarven towns that pocketed the Highlands. Each time she told of a great Dragonmaw victory or what they could do to aid the Horde, it seemed to Garrosh she welled with pride just a little more. Though wanting to hear more, or perhaps simply desiring to listen to her speak in that alluring gravelly voice she possessed, Garrosh put up a hand, stopping her suddenly. "These are great deeds you speak about your people, but I want to know something else, something of great importance."

Zaela flashed him a crooked grin that set Garrosh's heart to racing, sweat began to prick the back of his neck, and he hoped he didn't appear as awkward as he felt.

"Ask away, Warcheif, the Dragonmaw have nothing to hide."

"I want to know of Warcheif Zaela." He stated firmly to mask the quiver in his voice, forcing his nerves to steady.

It was obvious his question had surprised her, a look of worry momentarily over shadowed her features before hiding it behind a wall of neutrality. Zaela sighed in resignation, nodded more to herself than to Garrosh before she spoke. "I will always be honest with you, Warcheif Garrosh, as I hope you shall always be honest with me. Both my parents where Drake riders, we lived a modest life, and did nothing very special. I joined the warrior ranks to support my parents when they became ill, they soon died after. In truth I have done nothing very note worthy. I wield no legendary weapon, and my armor is basic guards wear. Until the rebellion, I was no one very known."

The silence that came after the confession was almost palpable. Here was, for lack of a better word, a Nobody taking up the mantle of leadership for the Dragonmaw. She wouldn't be prepared for the challenges to come, but, Garrosh thought ironically, neither had he been much prepared for leading the Horde. Yet he prevailed, what did that say about her?

"Is all well, Warchief Garrosh?" Zaela asked finally unable to tolerate the silence any longer.

"Uh… yes, very well, Warchief Zaela. Why do you ask?" Garrosh prayed fervently to the spirits his voice didn't sound as squeaky as he thought it did.

"You appear displeased with my answer. While I would not usually care, it is perhaps a bad first impression." She replied. "I will not deny I am extremely new to leading, your input and wisdom would be much welcome as much as I am loath to ask your aid."

Garrosh smiled feeling oddly comfortable around this woman he had just met. She was proud, but not to proud to ask for aid when the good of her people depended on her. A good quality in a leader.

"I am still getting used to leading myself, wisdom is something that appears to constantly elude me." He admitted with a shrug and couldn't help thinking of when he had attacked the Alliance ships on the way to the Highlands. His foolish choice could have killed him and left his people in turmoil, making them easy pickings to their enemies. It was the first time he had admitted his vulnerability to anyone. He had not even shared his concerns with Thrall convincing himself it would make him look weak in the eyes of one so strong. Had this strange woman put an enchantment on him, to plumb his deepest worries and secrets? After a moment he abandoned the thought, he would have sensed an enchantment or any source of magic. So what was it about this woman that made him relaxed an open?

"Then you are displeased with me?" Zaela asked.

She didn't sound sad, or dismayed, Garrosh bet she never sounded, or felt like that. No, it was rather like a cold statement not liking it, but accepting. She had known this might be a possible reaction to her confession and was prepared to face any challenge should it present itself. It was another quality that was making Garrosh respect the battle hardened orcess more and more. Her warm brown eyes searched his fearlessly for the answer, caused his insides to bloom with a fire he had never felt so intense. Did she think, he thought her weak, or stupid? Garrosh shook his head rapidly feeling guilty but not knowing why.

"No, Zaela…" He paused totally taken of speech as he peered into her eyes.

He felt as if they were reading his soul, but couldn't turn away. It seemed as if his brain had cut off from his mouth. Just saying her name brought up such feelings! Perhaps he had been wrong about the enchantment.

"A tad disoriented." He finished the lame excuse with a cough.

'_Stupid fool, get it together you have a war to lead, this is no time to loose your head over just another pretty face!'_ But 'pretty' he decided after a moment, was an understatement, there was something about her…just something so different.

With a warriors discipline he forced himself to abandon the topic, how could he get anything accomplished here if he was staring and stumbling every five minutes! He decided to stick to another discussion that would take his attention away from her…he hoped. Leaning forward his eyes sparkled with the far off promise of battle and blood. "Tell me all you know of the Wildhammer."

Zaela caught on to the glint in his eyes, gaining one that mirrored his own. With a slight smile, she readily complied.


	2. Useless Emotions

The ransacked Wildhammer town, usually bristling with battles against Horde an Alliance forces, was eerily quiet. The fire gutted dwarven homes and shops sat like corpses, abandoned and lifeless. A soft, but chilling, wind blew dust and soot inside the door ways giving off a mournful death-like wail as it whipped through the deserted homes, as if re enacting the cries given by the dwarves unable to escape the Dragonmaw raiding parties. Everything showed signs of battle, from the blood coated cobbled stone path ways to the mix of weapons and armor scattered about in the torn landscape.

Dublin Wild-iron felt in his salt and peppered beard something was amiss. He shifted his Wild hammer from calloused hand to calloused hand in nervousness, the weapon usually comforting in his grasp felt heavy and strange. Behind him his troops shuffled around warily.

"Quiet in the ranks." He ordered his own voice sounded disconcerting in the silence.

The mumbling continued only several tones lower.

"I said shut-up!" Dublin yelled out, reveling his own ill feeling to his forces.

He was usually an easy going commander, who let his regiment get away with more than they should, but all could feel today was different. The warning whistle from a scout halted everything.

Dublin raised a hand along with his weapon. "Shut your traps, some ones coming, be ready."

For two minutes, Dublin would have bet his beard nobody in his regiment breathed, the pent up nervousness reaching an all time high. The sigh of relief was audible as a human priest walked down the path. Hands folding in front of him, as if praying, and a hood covering his lowered head.

"Rest easy lads, 'tis only a priest." Dublin waved to the man hailing him in their direction. "Hello there, father. Friends here. Get in the brush with us quick like and tell us your business. Them boyo's at Kurgan's outpost send yea?"

Dublin noticed he was walking awfully slow even stumbling some; he might be hurt even beyond his healing skills. Nothing a shaman couldn't fix, he thought proudly puffing out his small chest. As the human came into the brush he finally collapsed, and Dublin caught him raising the hood to see the poor fellow's condition. What he found was large alarmed eyes and a gagged mouth.

"It's a trap!" Dublin yelled, though it was far too late.

"Dragonmaaaaaaaaaaaaw!" Zaela bellowed her war cry, leaping with abandon into the brush.

The ambushers found themselves the ambushed as Zaela hacked Dublin Wild-iron nearly in two. He died instantly the look of disbelief still etched into his face. The Dragonmaw leader swung her axe in a sideways arch feeling the satisfaction of a dwarven head meeting the blood slick metal. A steel toed boot slammed into a human, who was stationed with the dwarves, with a sickening crunch. The force of the blow sent the human toppling to the ground in a crumpled heap clutching at the twisted protruding bone. It was over quicker than it began. Zaela and her war band showed no mercy to the dwarves, crying out in victory.

Garrosh's battle tactics were sheer genius! They had driven half the Wildhammer dogs out in less than 4 months thanks to his superior strategies. There was a moment of exuberance as Zaela relished in those facts. As her forces began hacking and gouging out Alliance fingers and eyes to wear as trophies, or feed to drakes as treats, she scaled a hill overlooking the twilight shore. Dragonmaw port stood large and commanding in the expanse of the land, the black walls towering in the all but deserted landscape looked akin to a misshapen throne on which would sit the communal spirit of the Horde, proclaiming its dominance of this land and all others. Its gates reminded Zaela of the gaping maw of a dragon ready to rip and devour all that would oppose their rule. To her right, fires burned afar from the Alliance outpost, even now a goblin zeppelin was flying over to bombard the alliance once again in a wave of fresh troops and bullets. Like ants in the distance a steady stream of Alliance deserters were being escorted to the vast dungeons built under Dragonmaw port. She frowned slightly, at that. Garrosh said it was a political tacit to keep them alive, then barter them back to the Alliance for their own ends, although he and she would have much rather put them to the gallows as should be with all cowards. He claimed it had worked wonders for his troops in the far away land of Northrend, where they had struck a fatal blow to the Lich King, and crippled the Alliance in the area.

Garrosh, the very name invoked feelings Zaela had thought forgotten and useless. His name also invoked a type of embarrassment that made her want to blush. What right did she have to long for the Warcheif of the Horde? Surely not she, a lowly grunt, in over her head, trying to lead a whole people. Although she had never been to Orgrimmar, she could imaging all the fatal beauties who awaited Garrosh when he returned, clad head to toe in only the finest armor wielding only the finest weapons longing for him, just as she. What orc woman in her right mind would not be attracted to that kind of power? What woman in general would not long for that kind of man? Jealousy, another emotion she thought useless, came surging back in full strength, but she fought it back down again remembering where she was.

'_Now is not the time or place for such thoughts, Zaela, you weak minded fool!' _She scolded herself harshly.

She clutched her battle worn axe, to remind her that she had a job to do, for Garrosh and the Horde. For now making sure any of the Wildhammer in the vicinity didn't see dawn was enough to keep her distracted.

~8~8~

"The war goes well in the Highlands, Zaela?" Garrosh asked as Zaela entered the clan hall in the early gray dawn.

Zaela thought she did an admirable job keeping the surprise out of her face, having not expected a visit. "Yes." She acknowledged with a nod, striving to keep her beating heart in check. It only thudded like this in battle, why did it do so now?

"Good. I heard of your success with the dwarves, the river runs red with their blood." Garrosh commended her with a grin that very nearly made her blush. "But on to other less pleasant matters." He continued with a sigh, loosing that rare grin. "By all reports your dungeons are getting full. It's time for some bargaining."

"I do not bargain with Alliance." Zaela sneered.

To Garrosh the look on her face was intimidating and… cute, it suited her when she was angry, nostrils flaring, eyes blazing, and a set jaw. He knew to simply demand she do something, Zaela was more inclined to kill every Alliance here before she was given a direct demand over her peoples port. It was infuriating and commendable all at once.

"We've discussed this, Zaela, I to would like to see all the pigs gutted and spiked, but they have more use delivered alive and sent back with what the humans call a 'dishonorable discharge'."

"Dishonorable discharge," Zaela crossed her arms, laughing ruefully. "In my book, the only 'dishonorable discharge' you receive is an axe to the neck for cowardice, and those Alliance deserve the same!"

She was stubborn, her eyes flashed angrily, a sign he had quickly found to mean she would not change her mind on the subject and would fight him to the bitter end to see her way done. Garrosh didn't really want to argue the matter, in truth he agreed, and had circumstances been different he might not have used the tactic at all.

To any one else, Garrosh would have probably lost his temper, to be sure he was angry, but not as furious as his usual attitude preceded him, by now he would have thrown a few punches and screaming bloody murder to the cur who opposed his will. But not her. _'Why not her, what makes her so special?' _He toyed with the thought briefly before storing it away for later. He found himself having to do that a lot when around the fierce Dragonmaw Warcheif, his mind always drifted to personal thoughts of her, even in the direst of circumstance.

Garrosh rolled his eyes in agitation, was this how Thrall felt with him? Unreasonable to the last? If so he owed the former Warchief a huge apology.

Pointing a finger at her he all but snarled. "Heed my words, Warcheif Zaela. Bargain with the Alliance for the prisoners. You need breathing room on the Twilight shores, they know it, and you know it. Stop being a fool, and do as I say!"

Zaela looked up to him sharply, giving him such a cold stare; he had to fight the urge to move away. Her teeth were clenched tightly, fist curled, forcing herself not to spew a litany of curses at him. Zaela's fiery temper had gotten her in trouble more than once over the years, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it would probably do so now.

He had no knowledge of Dragonmaw ways or customs, and for him to come into her clan hall demanding she do as he requested! Hah! There was more chance of Deathwing himself skipping into Dragonmaw port offering free puppies and rainbows! She took a step forward, a finger poking into his exposed chest. "You address the Warcheif of the Dragonmaw, Hellscream. You may be the leader of a mighty nation, but Dragonmaw lead their own, I will take your advice, and nothing more when it comes to Dragonmaw matters!"

She reminded Garrosh of himself, her stubborn fury, standing in front of someone she knew could probably snap her in two with out a second thought. The pair stared at one another for long moments their eyes silently doing battle, neither relenting or willing to compromise. There would be no giving way, at least not while her temper was running at full strength. He could have (should have) pushed his way to be done, but found he didn't have the heart to do so. In the back of his mind, he noted, every time he saw Zaela, a little bit of him he didn't even now was there would surface. It was… disconcerting.

"Stubborn fool!" Garrosh growled, his impressive bulk towering over the orcess.

If she was intimidated by the display of 400 pounds of brown muscle basically shooting daggers at her with his eyes, she didn't show it, not even so much as flinching in the face of his wrath.

"Ignorant brute!" She replied, just as fiercely as he.

Zaela's heart hammered away, though her anger pushed through any fear she might have felt. Surprisingly, she knew instinctively he would not force his will, and decided to leave the argument at that, lest worst come to worst.

They stared at one another a moment longer before Zaela turned away, stomping out of the clan hall though thinking on Garrosh's words. They did need breathing room, it was hard to see wounded and dead coming back to their mourning kin, knowing you had ordered those grunts to go out there and give their blood. To be sure, the grunts and families, understood, but that didn't make the knowledge any easier to digest.

The guards straightened and saluted as she passed, and Zaela fought the urge to do the same, even after months of leadership she wasn't used to people bowing and saluting to her. It only reminded her more she wasn't supposed to be doing this, she was a soldier not a leader, how could she determine what was best for her people when she barely had a clue what she herself was doing. Perhaps Garrosh was right…a little.

As she exited the clan hall, a target for her wrath suddenly became open. "Gorcall, get your useless hide out here this instant!" Zaela cried out fist curling an uncurling in fury of what she was about to do.

Master of arms Gorcall ran up to her, his gray skin beaded with sweat as if in worry. "Your orders, Warcheif?"

Throwing her hands up helplessly, she took her ire out on the poor master of arms. "Send an envoy to the blasted Wildhammer, tell them we have valuable deserters the Alliance might be interested in obtaining! Now!"

There was little satisfaction in the way Gorcall flinched at her rising tone, before saluting and moving to carry out her orders with all haste. Her eyes followed him all the way to his drake, and into the sky, before it became strained to see him as a tiny black dot. Still irate, and wanting something to take her fury out on something she decided to go out for a little 'walk' to calm her down. All who knew Zaela knew 'walk' meant someone or something was about to have a really a bad day, more than likely any wandering dwarves.

She was just about to head for the gate when a scraggly, yet cultured, female voice halted her.

"I'm impressed; you managed to walk away from your screaming fit with Warchief Garrosh without one severed limb and made a smart decision on top of it all. You've got a lot of courage or stupidity."

Zaela turned to find a Forsaken standing in the door way that led to the portal to Orgrimmar. She was hunched over, but had a grace about her, garbed in expensive robes, that where torn in some places from where bones had cut at the fibers of the cloth.

Zaela gripped her axe growling at the Forsaken. "You yourself have a lot of nerve to speak that way to me. Who are you?"

"Lady Cozwyn, ambassador of her majesty Sylvanas Windrunner, at your service, Warcheif Zaela." The Forsaken offered her a deep bow.

Many Forsaken passed through Dragonmaw port, there was even one in the trader's hall hawking his enchanting wares, but that had been the extent of the Dragonmaw's contact with the strange beings. The Forsaken hadn't made any formal introduction to the newest members of the Horde, and Zaela had accounted that for them either not caring or simply keeping to themselves.

Moving her hand from her axe, Zaela scoffed. "Huh, your queen made no effort to see me herself, are the Dragonmaw not worth the time of the precious Banshee Queen?"

Zaela was still itching for a fight, and if this Forsaken would accommodate her, she would readily comply.

"No Warchief, the Dark Lady is currently engaged in battling Alliance encroaching upon her Kingdom; otherwise she would have indeed come herself." Cozwyn clarified. "Instead, she sent one of her top priest and tacticians to be of any service I may. And it looks like with your up coming negations, I got here just in time."

If their was any mocking in the Forsaken's words, Zaela couldn't sense it, but her gut told her to be wary of anyone the Banshee Queen had sent personally. It hadn't taken the Dragonmaw long to be caught up on the many fine tales of Azeroth, which they had been mostly secluded from. Adventurers were more than willing to share their tales to the off duty grunts and wide eyed children. Rumors of Sylvanas and Garrosh squaring off had reached their ears months ago, making Zaela more than a little wary why the Dark Lady would send an ambassador to her.

"Why should I accept the Dark Lady's gift of one of her most prized advisors?" She asked dubiously.

Cozwyn broke into a rotting grin, and Zaela knew immediately she'd fallen into a trap. "You would deny an ambassador from one of your allies? Not a good first impression."

Zaela almost said she didn't give a Kobolds behind what impression she gave, but held back her tongue knowing it a foolish thing to say. She found herself having to do a lot lately, keeping her sharp words in check, in order to avoid disaster. Stifling her pride, Zaela nodded. "You're right of course, Lady Cozwyn. Come we will speak as we walk."

If Cozwyn still possessed eyebrows they would have been raised in curiosity. "Where are we going?"

"Dwarf hunting, if I am stuck with you, then you will at least make yourself useful, then perhaps I will listen to your advice for the coming bargaining."

Zaela was quite aware she was sorely unprepared for the task ahead of her, and as much as she hated it, she would need help, if this Forsaken was willing to offer aid, well, she wasn't going to say no. Although, half…well most of her was hoping the bargaining would simply end up with them trying to kill one another and she would have a good enough excuse to execute the prisoners.

"Dwarf hunting, eh?" To Zaela's surprise the Forsaken laughed. "Ah, its been such a long time since I went on a good hunt. Dwarves are indeed the most enjoyable to run down, there little legs pumping vainly to out distance you, very comical. Also they taste like beer battered shrimp you know."

Zaela tried to contain a laugh, but couldn't, as the pair exited the gate. Perhaps having Cozwyn around wouldn't be so bad.

~8~8~

_A/N: I know, not the best way to introduce Cozwyn, but you get quest from her in the quest chain, so here she is. _


	3. Love?

A_:N- There is a plot in here I swear! And thanks to Yingyanggirl for reviewing my chapters ^.^_

_~8~8~_

After his meeting with Zaela, Garrosh should have gone back to Orgrimmar; there were many things that needed to be attended to. He knew the moment he stepped foot back in Grommash hold, he would be beset by advisors and councilors, arms and tongues laden with scrolls and decrees that needed his direct attention, each more urgent than the last. Before he could even sit down on his throne he would be neck deep in hard decision making. Yes, he should have gone back to Orgrimmar, but instead ordered the mage to conjure a portal to the maelstrom.

The world turned instantly from the tranquil Highland shores, to the deafening sound of waves crashing about large pinnacles that jutted out from the sea. The wind blew ferociously, bringing stinging tears to the Warcheif's eyes. Bringing his hands to his face, he struggled to regain sight.

"Garrosh, what brings you here?" The familiar voice of Thrall asked, very surprised.

As Garrosh's vision cleared, he saw Thrall resting by a magically kept fire, a bowl of soup in his hands, his hood taken off his head by the wind. In his eyes Garrosh saw alarm and worry.

"Has something happened to Orgrimmar?"

Garrosh couldn't help but smile, seeing Thralls concern for his people had not lessened while fraternizing with many he believed were the enemy. He shook his head taking a seat opposite of Thrall. "No, all is well with Orgrimmar, I came to pay you a visit, see how you were doing."

"I am tired, Garrosh." Thrall sighed, before taking another mouthful of soup. "Very, very, tired."

Both were silent for a moment, Garrosh peering into the fire, as Thrall swirled a bobbling bit of meat in his soup bowl, drawing what they could from the blunt confession. It was not like Thrall to sound so disparaged, out of the two of them he was always the optimistic one. Always seeing the bright future that lay ahead, not so in this case.

"Orgrimmar is safe and secure, the goblins have fortified much of the city, and we have renewed our peace treaty with Theramoore."

Garrosh knew that last bit would cheer Thrall, and kept back a satisfied smile as the far seer's head perked up. When it came to the leader of the small port town, all knew Thrall had a liking for her, even though they themselves tried to convince people otherwise. The instant pleasure in Thrall's eyes was immediate and his gave a wide tusky smile. "That's very encouraging to hear, I've had little good new since I arrived here. And what have you been up to of late, son of Grom?"

Garrosh shrugged casually, as if it was nothing important, though knew this was the real reason why he had come. "I have been talking with our new allies, the Dragonmaw. They have acquired deserters and their leader wants them put to the gallows, yet I want the same strategy I used in Northrend."

"So when are the exchanges going to be made?" Thrall asked, glad to have his mind taken away from the present duties, for a little while.

If Garrosh wanted his way, he would get it, there was no doubt of that, he was his fathers son, determined and unrelenting. He could only feel bad, for the poor fool who had tried to argue otherwise.

"They may not happen." Garrosh admitted quietly toying with a half burned stick, lying out of the fire.

The hiss of soup hitting flames sounded out right after the confession, whisking steam off with the howling wind. Thrall coughed up the soup that had gone down the wrong pipe, laughing at Garrosh's admittance. Garrosh not getting his way? Thrall had not had a good laugh in a long while, yet much to Garrosh's fury he did so now. "You're telling me, this other Warchief has defied your orders and they're not dead yet?"

Garrosh growled, breaking the stick in two with merely a flick of the hand, rising to pace, something he only did when he was confounded and upset, not knowing how to react. "Warcheif Zaela has a convincing argument, along with being stubborn, strong, proud-"

"Beautiful." Thrall slid slyly into Garrosh's rant. Zaela was a feminine name and guessed immediately the source of Garrosh' irritation.

The hulking orc nodded absentmindedly. "Beautiful, infuriating-" Garrosh stopped, turning to stare wide eyed at Thrall, his face flushed of all color, embarrassed at his own unwitting confession.

"You love her." Thrall stated simply.

Love? Surely not. The idea was laughable, but Garrosh was in no laughing mood. He glared at Thrall growling. "I do not love her, she is…attractive."

"Attraction doesn't make one change their entire demeanor." Thrall countered. "You ordered Sylvanas about with out a second thought, seeing your instruction were carried out despite her protest, and yet this one woman confronts you and you back down. You my friend are in love."

Love…Garrosh did not have time for love. He had a people to lead, and enemies to crush beneath his heel. Besides, what good was love when he had plenty of women who would swarm to him, seeing all his needs met with the snap of his fingers, what more could a man want! The Warchief offered a rude snort, turning back to the portal. He had hoped Thrall could see past the problem plaguing him, but had only aided in confirming his fears, "What do you know of love, Thrall, you can't even court one of your own kind!"

"Love comes in all shapes and sizes, my friend." He replied, and Garrosh knew Thrall was smiling but did not look back walking through the portal to Orgrimmar.

As incredulous of a notion as it was, not even worth thinking about, Garrosh could not shake Thralls words. He wasn't in love. He did not need to be in love, he couldn't afford to be in love.

As he walked through the portal to Grommash hold, as predicted, he was immediately pressed by advisors, all talking at once, many shouting to be heard. All it took was one of his infamous, murderous glares, to make them all step back a wary silence falling over them. Angrily he pushed through their ranks, headed towards the private quarter of Grommash hold.

"Get out, all of you!" He roared, not waiting to see them depart, all of them frustrated, just as he, but for far different reasons of that there was no doubt..

Garrosh's private quarters were large, but he had no need of the space, he barely slept here, usually drifting off in a study, still combing over a scroll or map. When he did come here it was almost always with another, and well… it wasn't usually sleep they found.

He sunk into a large fur covered chair, picking up a few grapes from an earthen bowl beside it. He had planned to rid himself of the thoughts of Zaela, by calling a few women to his chamber, and yet he doubted they would be of much help. In truth he had no desire for anyone else, even when he thought about another woman who wasn't Zaela it felt wrong. Yet to his endless fury he wondered why it felt wrong…why it felt like cheating. Cheating! He wasn't even together with the woman, and he thought he was cheating! _You're loosing your mind, that's what you're doing, Garrosh! _Putting both hands on his head he tried talking sense into himself, there was no love. He did not love her! But what else could it be? He fought the question down, using his entire mind not to let it resurface. Determined to prove it to himself, he began to call for one of the Kor'kron stationed outside the door to bring in a few women, but found his voice taken away. Berating himself profusely, he sunk lower into the chair, knowing he hadn't the heart or desire to call anyone to him, not until Zaela was out of his head. But that would be a mighty challenge, one Garrosh was dubious he could win.

A long, long, long time away from her would be the best remedy from his current…problem. A sting of guilt pierced him at calling it that, but he shook it off, wondering how else he could rid himself of these strange new feelings.

~8~8~

Half a world away standing on the deserted Dragonmaw docks, Zaela looked to the hanging crescent moon, allowing herself a silent sigh. She had come out here to clear her head, and yet all her focus stayed on Garrosh. Zaela thought it unfair how she couldn't keep her mind off him, and he probably never gave her a second thought.

Sometimes late in the night she would imaging what it would be like to reveal her feelings to him. Afterwards she would curse herself for day dreaming like a child with her first crush, if she ever did do something so foolish, he would probably laugh in her face.

Scowling, she knew she didn't have time for this, in two weeks the bargaining would take place, along with more construction on the port in between.

She should have been sleeping.

He should have been sleeping.

And yet both stayed awake, thinking of the other.


	4. Treaties and Terror

"I am not looking forward to this meting in the least, Lady Cozwyn." Zaela grumbled as they rode from Dragonmaw port in the early hours of the morning.

The sun was just beginning to peak above the waters, its fiery orange globule, greeting the sky, looking like it rose from the sea. The sky was painted in soft colors of pink and blues all mingled to make the most tranquil of mornings. Today however, the beauty was lost to the Dragonmaw leader, as she and the Forsaken ambassador led the way to a neutral enclosure between Dragonmaw port and Valliant's points where Horde and Alliance could meet.

The honor guard behind her rode silently, mirroring her emotions of sullenness. The only part she might like would be the end of their business, and even then she'd have to turn her back on the Dwarven curs, an unpleasant thought to say the least. But that was only half of her depression, the other half being Garrosh had not sent so much as a messenger to her of late, even to check on her decision. Although she would never admit it aloud, Zaela was worried her words had drawn a rift between them, and wished she could have taken them back. Setting her jaw, she nodded slightly to herself, what's done was done, she could not do anything to change things yet, instead she forced herself to focus on the diplomacy ahead.

There was not one amongst the Dragonmaw who didn't know diplomacy wasn't one of Zaela's strong suits, even as a simple grunt, she would have rather talked with her fist than with words. Looking out the corner of her eye she was actually pleased the Dark Lady had sent Cozwyn, the priest knew the ways of bargaining and had been invaluable in her aid. The thought of Cozwyn having her back provided a little comfort to the warrior woman who relaxed a bit the saddle.

A sudden shift in the wind caught the vigilant Zaela who stopped her wolf dead in its tracks. She held a hand up and the guards behind her halted immediately, bristling for trouble. Were the Wildhammer already making grave mistakes by planting an ambush? The thought made Zaela smile, hoping fervently it was.

"Well met, Warchief Zaela." A gruff voice hailed her from behind.

Taken by surprise, Zaela spun around to find a lone orcess standing right between her, and her guards. She was dressed all in black, two daggers still in their sheaths by her side. The woman hands were outstretched, an orcish custom showing she came in peace.

Zaela saw many of her guards turn their eyes away from there Warchief in embarrassment, knowing that none had noticed the rogue's presence. Some good they were, but Zaela knew that was unfair to them, from what she had heard the woman in front of her was the best of the best.

"You are Garona Half-orcen, are you not?" Zaela growled, still not liking the rub of being taken off guard.

By the light green skin, and odd features, proclaiming the curious side of her heritage there could be no doubt who it was. Garona offered a nod, placing her hands on her hips, scrutinizing the Dragonmaw leader with her cold black eyes. "You're on your way to bargain for the prisoners I see."

"And what concern is it to Garona Half-orcen if I am?" Zaela snapped. They had not made the fate of the prisoners a secret, but Zaela did not like the idea of this woman in Dragonmaw business. Furthermore, she did not like having the rogue scrutinize her; it made her feel vulnerable and very aware of her flaws.

The rogue shrugged nonchalantly. "I have heard talk of Twilight Hammer moving about near your port kingdom. It could be just rumor; I am not sure at all. I saw you leave earlier with such a big force and thought it might be wise if I warned you."

Zaela's eyes looked down upon the orcess, hoping it gave her a dignified air of leadership. "I thank you, for the timely warning, but we shall continue on our way."

Before she could turn back around, a gloved hand caught the reigns of Zaela's wolf forcing it to remain facing Garona. There was a haunted, dead look in her eyes as she spoke once more to Zaela. "Listen to me, Zaela of the Dragonmaw. The Alliance is the least of your worries here, they are only a fatal stumbling block compared to the real danger right atop that mountain range!" To accentuate her point, Garona pointed to the far away peaks, shadowed by foreboding dark clouds, and the rise of tall black buildings. "Garrosh never listened but perhaps you will, abandon your war with the Alliance, it will all be for naught if Cho'gall and his ilk come to pick off the survivors. Set the prisoners free as a gesture of temporary truce and turn your warriors to the real threat!"

"Who are you to tell me what to do!" Zaela yelled.

How dare this slinking outsider try and come and tell her how to run things, she was already unsure on many of her decisions and did not need this woman adding on to her problems. Taking her foot out of the stirrup, the warrior kicked out at Garona. It was an awkward attack but one the rogue had not been expecting, she jumped back, nimbly avoiding it, and that's when Zaela struck. Zaela all but leapt from the saddle tackling the off guard rogue. With in a few seconds of the scuffle, Zaela had Garona on the dirt stunned but quickly coming to.

"Zaela!" Cozwyn cried out, just as the first punch was about to be thrown.

One hand gripping, Garona's leather jerkin, the other poised to strike, the warrior turned to the Forsaken her brown eyes blazing in fury. She looked ready to fight the Forsaken as well, but Cozwyn only shook her head pityingly totally nonplused by Zaela's anger. "Words dear, use your words."

Zaela's chest heaved as she took large gulps of air, a trick Cozwyn had taught her to get her temper in check. After a few tenuous seconds, the warrior released the rogue letting her sink back down to the dirt. She mounted once more, lest her temper again rise to the rogue who was beginning to stand. "You remember this, Garona Half-orcen, Zaela, and Zaela alone makes the final decision for her people. This is what I have decided and this is how it shall be."

With that they began riding once more, leaving Garona in the dust and shaking her head. The moment to say the least had been thrilling, watching her people swell with pride for their leader, cheering her on as she had been about to beat the rogue senseless. Zaela would never have called herself vain but it felt good to get that approval from her people, it steadied her somewhat.

"Spoken like a true Warcheif." Cozwyn commented riding to catch up with Zaela. Cozwyn smiled at the warrior, giving her a brief nod. "You're getting more confident in yourself everyday."

Zaela grumbled something unintelligible to hide the fact she was flattered with the advisors statement. She became serious once more as the ancient meeting place came into view. The dwarves were already there, their banner of green and gold fluttering in the breeze, short tubby arms crossed distempered. A human sporting blue and white armor, stood above them all, and waved to the Dragonmaw. Zaela was surprised when Cozwyn waved back, as they slowed their mounts the Forsaken's mouth moved quickly in a hushed whisper. "That human is Hamlin Brightguard, an envoy from Stormwind. I dealt in negations with him in Northrend, you'll have to watch out, he's a tricky one. By the time he's done talking with you, he'll take all your armor, and you'll pay him to do it!"

"Then why did you wave to him like you were a friend?" Zaela asked confused.

If forsaken could blush Zaela guessed Cozwyn did at that moment. "Because he is my brother after all…"

They were to near now to continue the conversation, but Zaela made a mental note to inquire more on that when they arrived back at port. Up close, there was some resemblance, in the facial features which Cozwyn hadn't lost too much of.

"Greetings, Warchief Zaela." Hamlin offered her a small polite bow.

The dwarf beside him, arms still crossed, grumbled something through his beard which Zaela took as a greeting.

"Greetings to you, Thane Grimbeard." Cozwyn replied in fashion.

When nothing came from Zaela, who was to busy glaring bloody murder at her hated foe, Cozwyn nudged her with the bony part of her arm. A silent reminder she wasn't supposed to start making trouble. Zaela shook her head to keep her mind on track, giving a small, if barely intelligible, greeting as well.

Hamlin smiled at his sister as they all sat around the place of neutrality. "I hope you brought you're A-game, Cozwyn."

"Why Hamlin, that's the only game I have." She replied chuckling, taking a seat opposite of him.

The dwarven ambassador didn't reply knowing it to be true.

By the time both factions had ended negations the sun had begun sinking into the western sky. Zaela rubbed a knot in her back sighing tiredly, though commending herself. All day, she had sat inches away from the long time enemy of the Dragonmaw. All day and hadn't killed one. If that wasn't progress she didn't know what was.

In dire need to stretch her legs, she walked beside her wolf, Bloodhowl, scratching the soft scruff of his neck absentmindedly. To be out in the open again felt good, even softening her anger about the bargaining. She wasn't pleased by some of the outcome of their chat with the Wildhammer, but some things were needed. The Dwarves would be pulling back from the Krazzworks, and keeping on their side of the river bank. How long would they keep their treaty was the only thing that worried Zaela, once they had the captives, what would stop them from breaking the treaty? She didn't worry about it much right now, it just felt so good to be out again, free for a while on the open road before having to resume her duties at the port. Garrosh was sure to be pleased when he found out how the talks went and that in turn pleased Zaela as well.

The air was warm, her guards had started a singing an old warriors tune to march along to, the road was clear, and there was a cool breeze in the wind. Zaela let the wind tousle her hair, but frowned when she smelled the faint scent of char and smoke. She halted turning to her warriors. "Anyone else smell that?"

She watched as the grunts took deep breaths, nodding to her, it did smell faintly of smoke.

"I think it's coming from that away." One grunt piped up point to the south.

That was the direction of Dragonmaw port. They were still about two hours away from reaching home, so no smells of fire pits or the huge bonfire out side the clan hall should have been able to reach them. Immediately an inner instinct told Zaela something was wrong, beads of sweat broke out around her forehead and the nape of her neck. A feeling of disaster washing over her. Breaking out into a run she ignored the alarmed calls from her guards, in fact she hadn't even heard them, nothing seemed to exist for a moment except for the terror that started to well with-in her.

Scaling a nearby hill, she clawed at the grass and dirt for more height, to get any view she could. As she finally crested the top of the hill, the sight took what little breath she had away, the energy in her legs gave out so that she sunk to her knees looking on into the illuminated distance.

Dragonmaw port was burning.


	5. To Comfort

The pounding at the heavy oaken door inside Grommash hold woke Garrosh with a start. '_Not now, spirits not now!' _He moaned inwardly, stirring himself from slumber. He felt as if had just gotten to sleep, after hours of restless turning unable to rid his thoughts of Zaela. She haunted his sleep, how did a man fight against such charms? Could he fight against them at all? Wine had been the temporary cure, allowing him a few hours of sleep, but as the knocking became louder, the wine was coming back with a vengeance.

He opened his eyes groggily, vision smeared, groaning he pulled the blanket from over his head wincing at the light that filtered in through a beaded curtain and practically seared through his throbbing skull. He kicked the blanket off to reveal only a thin pair of short breeches to cover himself. As he stumbled to the door his usual iron stomach threatened to give way from last nights heavy drinking. Snarling, he threw open the door, nearly yanking it from its hinges, growling at the cowering Kor'kron before him.

"Has the King of Stormwind died?" He asked in strained calm.

Garrosh could see the sweat leaking from under the guard's helm, his armor clanking as he shook. "N-no, Warchief."

"Has something happened to Thrall?" Garrosh asked, displaying the same tone.

"No…Warchief."

"Is Deathwing attacking the city?"

"N-no…" The unfortunate guard replied.

Before he could even utter the word 'Warchief', Garrosh grabbed him by the neck, flinging the Kor'kron against the door. "Why then have you awakened me so blasted early!"

The guards strength was nothing compare to Garrosh's and he muttered pitifully trying to gasp for breath. "A mage came to us, only minutes ago, he said he was sent by one Forsaken name Cozwyn stationed at Dragonmaw port. Yesterday, Twilight Hammer attacked the port killing many…" The guard could only gurgle helplessly as Garrosh's grip tightened in panic.

"Why has it taken so long to get word to Orgrimmar!" He yelled out literally shaking the poor guard.

"T-the mage t…told us the p-portal room was destroyed, Warchief! It w-as just by happenstance h-he had been passing by!" The guard cried out.

The moment the guard had delivered the news, a coil of fear wrapped around Garrosh. Zaela needed him, he didn't know why that thought came first into his head but he was as sure of it as nothing else in his entire life. The thought only lasted a moment before he was pressed back into reality by the guard's hands trying to pry his thick fingers from his neck. He dropped him unceremoniously, frowning in disgust as the guard scrambled to get out of his reach.

"Have the reserve Kor'kron called in, gather anyone willing to volunteer. Have a mage set a portal to Dragonmaw port within the hour!" Garrosh roared and the guard scrambled away all too happy to be anywhere but in Garrosh's presence.

As he left, Garrosh slammed the door to his quarters, the loneness only brought worry for Zaela to the forefront of his mind once more, and this time there was no fighting it back. Had she been injured, was she dead? He cursed himself wishing he had asked the guard before ordering him away, at least that information would have steadied him somewhat instead of the worried wreck he was inside.

Walking to a basin filled with cool water, he plunged his entire face into it to rid himself of all effects of sleep and bring clear thought to his head. He came up gasping for breath, and ran a hand over his bald head. Whatever happened, the Dragonmaw orcs had survived and, if history would repeat, had thrived after tragedy, he had no doubt it would be the same now. But for Zaela, there could be no telling even if she survived could she cope. Disaster had not spared Garrosh, he had seen war parties, he had ordered to battle come back, broken and bleeding in humiliating defeat, their friends and kin gone. He knew the feelings disaster wrought, and would have not wished them on his worst enemy, least of all Zaela. Garrosh had never been much of a religious man, he believed in his strength, and his axe, that had been all he needed. Both hands clutching the basin sides, he took a few minutes to ask the spirits give strength him and wisdom to aid the Dragonmaw Warchief. Ancestors knew they both would need it.

An hour later, a portal opened up to Dragonmaw port, Garrosh was first out, axe at the ready, least trouble still be near. The Kor'kron grunts tumbled out behind him, each gasping at the carnage before them. Dragonmaw port had been all but leveled. Blackened crumbling buildings still smoldering from Twilight fire, curled gray smoke up to the over cast sky. The once proud clan hall, still stood but with a massive chunk of the roof caved in, making it far too dangerous for many to enter. The barracks had been demolished fully, taking with it any unsuspecting off duty guardsmen and precious armor. Drake carcasses were strewn all around claw and fang marks in their bodies as they'd tried and failed to protect their masters. The bodies of those which had perished (which were many) had been carefully laid out, each covered with something, be it a simple blanket or cloak.

Survivors had begun picking up the scattered remains of their torn lives, most silent, though the grief showed on every rugged face. Amidst the tragedy stood a lone forsaken chatting with those, Garrosh knew as captains. Jaw clenched, tightening the grip on his axe he walked determinedly to face her. "Lady Cozwyn, correct? Where is Warchief Zaela I must speak to her at once."

Cozwyn sighed, not unused to Garrosh demanding boisterous demeanor and yet there was something else there today. Worry? Fear?

"She's salvaging what she can in the clan hall…she needs to be alone." Cozwyn replied, hoping Garrosh would catch on to her meaning.

Zaela had not wanted to grieve in front of an already grieving people. She couldn't afford to. Garrosh understood, and might have let well enough alone had it not been for his soul screaming to go to her.

Ignoring the Forsaken, he made a few quick commands to the Kor'kron, and headed straight into the clan hall. He padded in slowly, silently, using the time to wonder what he could say to her. But what did one say, to a leader whose people had been literally cut by half in a single day? He put the thought aside, hearing the rustle of someone moving. Turning inside, he saw her working frantically, clawing at the still hot charred roof debris with blistered, bleeding hands. A small pile of salvageable items sat beside the kneeling Zaela, covered in soot and dust.

"Zaela…" Garrosh spoke her name tremulously, and winced when he saw her go rigid.

He had come in person. '_Why did he have to come in person!' _Zaela thought forcing herself not to turn to him, not wanting him to see her weakness and shame.

Shutting her eyes tightly she hoped he would turn and leave, but wasn't surprised or dismayed when he did not. Instead he walked to her, kneeling beside the stoic Dragonmaw Warchief. He put a calloused hand on her shoulder, squeezing slightly. Such a simple, nearly meaningless gesture, any other time, from any other person, but not him, never from him. From that one touch of his hand, the walls she'd built up shielding herself from the agony of the tragedy crumbled. Tears pooled in her eyes, yet still she fought them back, not desiring for him to see her cry.

"They…they came while we were at the treaty talk. No one they saw was spared. I-I should have foreseen an attack, I should have made sure extra guards stayed behind, I should have turned back I…I…"

Before he quite knew what he was doing, Garrosh wrapped his arms around the orcess, pressing her close to him. Although her cries were quiet, he could feel the warm wet of her tears on his exposed chest, and they melted right to his soul. "This wasn't your fault." He replied hoarsely. "You couldn't have predicted this, no one could have."

"You don't understand, I let them down! I was supposed to protect them and instead have brought them ruin. Foolish woman that I am! My people are dead because of me! It's all my fault." She replied lost in self loathing and grief.

"No it is not!" Garrosh stated firmly, a hand wandered to her hair and he began to stroke it slowly in comfort. "I know the feeling of helplessness, like you've let everyone down, how can they even stand to look at you when you were chosen to lead them and this was the outcome. I felt the same when Orgrimmar was destroyed, I even contemplated stepping down and running back to Outland like a coward. But tragedy comes with the territory of being a leader, many times we cant help it, but it's what we do after that makes our people either admire or resent us."

Garrosh was surprised a shameful secret or cowardice, he had sworn to take to his grave, had come out so easily for her. A small part of him noted he sounded a lot like Thrall at the moment, and wondered if the spirits had heeded his prayer from earlier, but had no room to hold on with the thought for long. He was beginning to notice more and more how comfortable Zaela felt in his arms. She fit like a perfect puzzle piece interlocking with him. He felt…at one with her.

Throwing all pride to the wind, Zaela clung to Garrosh like a life line in a sea of sorrow, the blood from her hands and her tears mingling on his chest streaking it with a vibrant red. Getting lost in his wide caring arms that protected her from harm. She felt as if there was a tether between the two of them, binding together and it was funneling his strength into her.

She didn't want him to let go.

He would not have let go for all the world.

His voice was barely a whisper, the perfect mix of comfort and encouragement. "You must be strong for your people, Zaela, be the one they turn to in their grief. Be the Warchief, I know you are. Strong and defiant."

Garrosh's words touched Zaela straight to her soul, like a rallying cry, breathing into her new life. He was right, she had a people to lead, how immature to hide herself, from those who had lost so much. The change in the orcess was almost immediate, drawing herself back together from Garrosh's strength. Her shoulders straightened proudly, chin jutting up, a ferocious cold gleam in her eyes. Garrosh sensed the startling change and released her from his hold, reading her face now gone of all misery and disparagement. It made his blood thrill to see her jaw set, and the murderous flash in her eyes.

Wordlessly, Zaela stood and walked out of the clan hall, a determined stride to her step. Garrosh followed, intrigued, wondering what the Dragonmaw leader was up to. He had no doubt it would only be inspiring. As he walked behind the orcess, he could still feel the heat of her body tingling against him, her scent of salt spray and blood wafting through the air, and wasn't surprised to feel Goosebumps rise on his skin.

The orcs stopped their clean-up as Zaela and Garrosh appeared from the clan hall. Zaela knelt, grabbing a fallen Dragonmaw banner, torn and burned but still intact enough to display the red and gray insignia. She hefted it high above her head, yelling to address her people. "We have been beset by tragedy, death and destruction has come to the Dragonmaw, but we survive. We grieve today, bury our dead, salvage our homes, but tomorrow we prepare for vengeance, we will make the Twilights Hammer wish they had never looked upon the Dragonmaw!"

The roar of the Dragonmaw was deafening, it put any cry Garrosh had heard before to shame. There was fury in every eye, death in every roar. Zaela punched a fist to the overcast sky and her people did the same as a solemn salute.

"What's happening?" Garrosh asked Cozwyn who had come to stand beside him, his eyes stapled to the beautiful transformed angel of death that Zaela had become. Looking at her now, one would have never guessed what a grieving wreck she had been only minutes ago.

The Forsaken offered him a wry smile while looking on at the Dragonmaw chant their war cry. "What's happening, Warchief? Zaela is going to war. I would hate to be Twilight's Hammer right now."

Garrosh watched as the Dragonmaw rattled to new life, Zaela's gruff voice barking out orders as if she'd been leading all her life. A shiver went down his spine as he thought of any cultist who got in the way of their vengeance and could only nod in agreement with the Forsaken.


	6. Knowing Your Place?

"What is our farthest out post near The Bastion of Twilight?" Zaela asked her captains.

Waxed pooled on the edges of a huge map depicting the Highlands, Zaela, Cozwyn, and several commanders stood hunched over it reading it critically. It was an old map, with out new marking to show what settlements had been established after they had joined the Horde. Even though they had been embattled with the Wildhammer, Zaela had not been stupid, to completely ignore the Twilight's Hammer, she had tasked commanders to establishe a base, and had left it at that.

"That would be Crushblow." A commander said, using a finger to point to a blank place on the map.

Zaela scratched an X on the spot with her Griffin feather quill, though her gaze drifted to a few triangles, under which was marked 'Ogre Mound'.

The Red Fist ogre's had been in the Highlands for about as long as the Dwarves and Dragonmaw combined. They had never been friendly, but had really only kept to themselves. As it was, many simply let them be.

"And what of the Red Fist ogre's?" Zaela asked. If there were enemies to Deathwing, then as far as Zaela was concerned they were the Dragonmaw's new friends.

"Succumbed to that vile toad Cho'gall." A voice announced from a dark corner.

Commanders hurriedly drew their weapons to protect their Warchief, but Zaela and Cozwyn didn't so much as flinch recognizing the gruff voice immediately. The dark figure spat distastefully before walking into the light. Garona walked past the bristling commanders, standing right in front of Zaela. She placed a hand on the Zaela's exposed shoulder, shaking her head slowly. "You have my deepest sorrow for your people. I swear to you, I did not know about the attack."

A stab of regret pierced Zaela but she shook it off, things might have been different if she had heeded Garona's words, but she couldn't take it back, not now, not ever. Revenge would be the only cure to aid the shame that still clung at the corners of her heart, and even then she believed it would never fully depart.

"Thank you, but we will not sit here crying about things out of our control. We bring war to the cowards that did this, if you can help in anyway, the Dragonmaw would be most grateful for your aid."

Learning to accept help from others had been difficult for the Dragonmaw, but their ally's had helping hands, and they were slowly coming to realize there was no shame in taking aid.

Garona flashed Zaela a wicked smile picking up the griffin quill. "Now that I can do."

~8~8~

Garrosh sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with two large fingers, trying to rouse himself to listen to the eloquently, long winded, elven ambassador. He leaned on the left armrest of his throne, holding his head in his hand. Out of all the duties of leading this was the one he hated the most. The inactivity, listening to men and women drone on and on, and having to actually pay attention. His head buzzed with the endless chatter, and the indignant tone of the elf, who seemed insulted he had been chosen to come speak with the Warchief. Had it been a choice to stay and listen to this pointy eared narcissist, or face down Deathwing he would have chosen the latter.

"A message from Warcheif Zaela, Warcheif Garrosh." A guard announced waving a scroll taken from a messenger.

Garrosh's head perked up instantly, his attention on the babbling Blood elven emissary gone completely. He flicked a wrist towards the elf, dismissing him, and the ambassador left all to readily.

"Read it." He order, hoping he didn't sound as eager as he felt.

A bit of him scolded himself for the reactions his body was giving to her mere name, but a larger part of him excused it given the tragedy that had ensued to the Dragonmaw, if she need him, he would be there.

The guard opened it, letting the thin strip of string that held it together fall to the floor. His face instantly went flush, eyes darting through the note again, re-reading it several times.

"Well, what does it say?" Garrosh growled, causing the guard to jump.

"Well…it…um…" He stuttered pathetically.

Slamming his fists onto the arm rest, he strove to control his rising temper. "Read. It."

The guard swallowed, a huge lump in his throat, wiping sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand. "Warchief Garrosh, send a war party of your finest assassins to Dragonmaw port by next week. Your ally, Warcheif Zaela."

"What? Let me read that." Garrosh snatched the scroll from the guards trembling hand his eyes roving over the letter.

Sure enough that's what it said, plain and simple. Garrosh snarled angrily, balling the scroll in his iron fist, it wasn't a request or a suggestion, it was a demand, period. She was demanding him to give her some twenty plus assassins at due haste with out a bye your leave or other. The nerve! Obviously, the impetuous Zaela in her battle craving fervor forgot who it was she wrote to for aid. Garrosh took orders from no one, even it was from the woman who his mind never completely left from.

Throwing the crumpled scroll away he stood rolling his shoulders. "It appears I need to go to Dragonmaw port to teach Zaela her place. Have a portal prepared at once!"

As expected, when Garrosh arrived the Dragonmaw were busy at work. Hammers rang out crafting armor, or new barricades for the defenseless port. Guards were busy training, their battle cries ringing through the air as they performed their maneuvers on battered training dummies, each imagining it was the body of Twilight's Hammer. Others were busy helping repair the port or preparing items for war. Mothers with young, stood by hastily built smoke shacks that would dry and prep meat for rations. Elders, to old for battle, patched canteens and packs or cleaned off old armor and weapons that had sat tucked away in trunks or hung on display. Even the children sat around ripping cloths and dipping it in special salve for bandages.

Normally Garrosh would have stopped to admire the work but his thoughts still raged at Zaela's trite message. He all but kicked in the clan hall door screaming her name and brandishing the crumpled paper. "Warcheif Zaela, what on Azeroth makes you think you can send this sort of message to me, demanding I send troops out here!"

She was surprisingly calm, turning to him, her face one of annoyance. "I am going to war, you have troops to spare, I shall need them by next week, or as soon as you can ship them out."

Zaela contained a laugh as she watch Garrosh stutter in indignation. It wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting from her and that only caused him to become dumbfounded.

Dumbfounded, that was the only word that came to mind. He was dumbfounded why she showed not the slightest hint of worry, when he had charged in here like a rabid Kodo. Dumbfounded why he hadn't sent her to the ancestors for such disrespectful talk. Dumbfounded why he wanted to break out into a smile at her gall. He fought the urge, however, growling at the Dragonmaw chieftain. "That still gives you no right…"

"Look." She interrupted tartly punching a fist down to the table. "I have a war here on my hands, you will give me what I request, and I will thank you for your generosity in the end. I have no time for politics or other. Would you have preferred me send an envoy laden with gifts which we do not have, and waiting for an audience with time that we do not posses? I thought you more practical than that, Warchief Garrosh."

He tried to talk, oh he did try but every time a thought came to rebuff her words he realized they couldn't fight her logic. And the way she was looking at him, daring him to say no.

"I will concede to your request-"

"Demand." She interrupted correcting him, and earning her a murderous glare from the seething Hellscream.

"And have my assassins ready, but don't expect any more charity from me, you and your people may fend for yourselves here at port!"

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, but to prideful he said nothing, it wasn't as if he could take them back, Hellscream had spoken. His word was law.

If she had been bothered by the proclamation there wasn't the slightest hint of it. "So be it." She nodded, turning back down to the thick ledger book on the table flicking her hand at him. It was a dismissive gesture if he had ever seen one, and he crossed his arms childishly, determining not leave, hoping to regain some lost dignity from the woman who was commanding him as if was her lackey. He thought it ironic how he had come to set her straight, and instead she had done it to him.

"You're still here." Her tone was one who knew exactly what he was up to and didn't care telling Garrosh he would regain nothing today. "Good while you're standing there like a lummox let me explain my plan. The Red Fist ogre mound has allied with the Twilights Hammer, they're a literal shield keeping any good force from getting to the Citadel atop the mountain. We will strike them and turn the mound to rubble beneath our feet, all the while we will search for the beast that headed the attack on the port."

"Wasn't it the ogre monster Cho'gall?" Garrosh asked now thoroughly intrigued by Zaela's battle plan, he threw his ire out the window, not having the desire to stay angry with her for very long. A bit of him wondered why, but once again he shrugged it off.

"Not from what Garona told us, and she would know, she's been hunting that monster for years."

"Garona…" The word came out in surprise, causing Zaela to look to him sharply, a feeling to terror which she could not name surfacing.

Just by the look on his face, she could tell, he knew her in more of just the talking sense. Had she been one of his many lovers? The feelings of inadequacy came surging back, Garona was strong, smart, and by all reports ferocious in combat, her daggers were crafted from Onxyia's fangs, Deathwings own daughter! Besides having killed the previous king of Stormwind, something Garrosh wouldn't have minded in the least even though she had been not in control of herself. Stubbornly Zaela told herself she had nothing to be jealous of, and yet it felt as if an arrow had pierced her heart. But she couldn't dwell on it for long, her people were more important.

She nodded speaking tentatively. "Yes, Garona will be helping me and Cozwyn with our secret mission, while our forces attack the Red Fist we three will breach the old dwarven city of Grim Batol.

Garrosh noticed she was avoiding his gaze all of a sudden. What was that look that had just crossed her face; disappointment, sorrow, jealousy? Was she…no that couldn't be it. She probably didn't even care if he had had a small fling with the rogue half-orcess, it had been only one night, but still, the look that had flashed across her face had made his heart sink into his stomach. He shrugged it off, urging himself to focus "Grim Batol?" Garrosh asked incredulous, rubbing his chin. "That place is crawling with Twilight Cultist, what could you possibly want in there?"

Zaela picked up a strange item from off the table, it looked like a large rounded ruby pendant attached by a bloodied chain. She wrapped it around her wrist hefting it in her palm, the light sparkling off its sanguine sheen. "No cultist we've captured has talked, they are too ingrained to their masters to give away much information. We must go higher up the ladder."

"And you will find what you seek there?" Garrosh asked dumbly half entranced by the glimmering enchanted item.

Zaela smiled grimly, closing her hand that the trinket rested in, she placed it close to her chest, nodding. "Positive."


	7. Dungeons and Dragons

_A/N- For those who don't know the lore behind Grim Batol very well, a little bit at the first part of the chapter will fill you in. _

~8~8~

Grim Batol had once been a pinnacle of dwarven architecture and commerce. Naturally feeling at home, in and around deep tunnels and black caves, the Grim Batol dwarves literally built a city in a mountain. No small feat, but it was at the time being accomplished by the dwarves of Ironforge. Far be it from any Grim Batoler to think any other dwarf could outshine them! They had been a proud folk, thinking none could surpass them in anything, but always accepting when they had been proven wrong. Building the cities had been grand good natured competition from them to the Ironforgers; it provided a good platform for communicating and also establishing profitable trading from the kingdom of Dun Morogh.

Life had been pleasant for a few short centuries, until the Dragonmaw orcs, still corrupted with demon blood, attacked. They ravaged the dwarves with the queen of the red flight, using an item known as the Demons Soul to control Alexstraza. However the Life-binder broke free, and in her wrath destroyed much of the once proud city, leaving it a festering abandoned tomb. It remained that way for many years, it halls abandoned and rotting away into history, until Cho'gall revamped it to life with his masters sinister minions. Now the once abandoned halls are thick with cultist, and evil swarms every nook of the old kingdom, watching and waiting for the opportune time to strike for their master.

The troggs that dug through the abandoned dwarven city were the lowliest of Deathwings minions. The primitive humanoid creatures had only one objective in Grim Batol, dig, for what they where never told and if one dare gather the courage to ask…well, it never ended pretty. And so they dug, unless they where sleeping or fighting with one another. Occasionally a red drake would break loose from its bindings and torch a few dozen along some of the upper ruins, but in all honesty who cared, certainly not the cultist and not even the troggs who had lived to dig another day.

A trogg grumbled distempered as he clawed through the long forgotten debris of the city. He stopped as his gnarled fingers clawed along the bottom of the pile of what had once been a mosaic of dwarves at a tavern, revealing nothing yet again. Straightening his form as much as he could the trogg looked to his three companions who where all huddled together talking in their guttural language. The leader of the trio, a nasty looking brute, spied the tired trogg staring at them and snarled, baring his jagged yellowed teeth, and throwing a rock. Just incase he might attack, the leader then brandished the finest weapon among the troggs a solid piece of cut away timber with a large rusted and bloodied nail sticking out.

The tired trogg gazed at the weapon covetously, but turned away not wanting to face its deadly smack. There was suddenly a yell, and the trogg turned back around to see an orc female who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere stab the leader in his neck, his weapon broken in two. The trogg to her left made a lunge at her legs trying to take her down but the orcess was too nimble and he instead barreled right into his companion. A roar pierced the air and another orc charge the pair, dealing them both quick blows to the skulls with a two handed axe. There was another as well, appearing beside the orcs an undead creature, she only wielded a small mace that hung to her bony hips, chanting prayers to her deity.

The trogg who watched stood idly by chuckling in devilish delight as the three bullies had gotten what was coming to them. With his pale sickly skin covered in dust and dirt, the trogg blended in perfectly, with the rubble, and watched as the trio passed complexly unaware to his presence. When he had made sure they were gone, he cleverly, wormed his way through the rubble revealing passages that would take him throughout the city. Umbris had to be warned. The Dragonkin master of the troggs ruled them by fear and promise; all the troggs believed him some sort of powerful demi-god who could transform them into large powerful beings capable of ripping someone in two with one blow. Blood and power. What more could a trogg ask for?

"I had no idea so many had come to dwell in this accursed place." Zaela said grunting as she pulled her axe out of an ogre's neck.

A heap of bodies lay at her feet, bodies of ogres, Dragonkin, and even Blood elves and human scattered among the ranks of the Twilight Hammer. Looking around at the carnage of broken bodies she cursed herself for letting her hatred of the dwarves blind her to all else, had she been a good leader, such as Garrosh, she'd have seen the panorama. _'But you're not Garrosh, you are Zaela, and only did what you thought best.'_ The Dragonmaw Warchief had to keep telling herself that, as the more she traversed the Highlands, the more she had begun to see just how much she had missed. How she wished Garrosh was by her side, to discuss their problems that seemed to pile one atop the other every day. To share her burdens as she would with him and to be the support she desperately needed.

Garona gave a mirthless laugh as she cleaned her daggers with a shirt of the fallen. "This is only the tiniest fraction of Deathwings forces. If we killed everything that moved in here, he nor Cho'gall would so much a bat an eye, knowing there were thousands more at their beck and call."

Although she didn't show it the rogues words deeply troubled the Warchief. So many…she suppressed a shudder, could so many people be wrong about Deathwings plan for Azeroth? Instantly she rebuked herself, no Deathwing was evil and anyone who fought under his banner was the same. Sheathing her axe the warrior orc began walking once more. "That may be, but we're not here to halt Deathwings forces, we're here to get information. Ah and there's our informant now."

General Umbris was said to be one of the cruelest twilight Dragonkin ever known. He was quite large, bigger than any of his kind, with a tough purplish black hide covered with enchantments. He also foresaw much of the doings in Grim Batol, making sure his masters orders were carried out precisely. He looked not in the least surprised to see the trio and in fact smiled as they approached. "It's about time you three showed up, I was wondering if those bumbling cultist were going to be to much of a challenge for you." He laughed at his own weak joke, flexing his small bat-like wings.

Behind him the rubble and darkness skittered with more troggs awaiting words of their master, they growled at the intruders hefting large chunks of rock but always the cowards, none dare start throwing.

"I'm sorry; did we miss your tea party? Now, now, don't cry it's alright." Zaela replied mockingly flashing him a nasty smirk.

The general snarled narrowing his beady black eyes, thick armored tail flicking dangerously. Behind him, the troggs snickered at Zaela's jab at the Dragonkin enraging Umbris all the more. Before he could respond, Zaela shrugged continuing. "Tell us what we need to know, and we'll make your death a painless one."

"Hah! You'll never learn the master's plans, foolish infidels." Umbris roared, the talks coming abruptly to an end.

The three spread out as Umbris charged, swinging his two bladed weapon in wide figure eight arches. Zaela struck first, with a leap from the left she buried her axe in the muscles above his left wing the axe aiming to lope the appendage off. The general roared in agony, spinning his bulk to rid himself of Zaela. The Dragonmaw Warcheif went soaring across the room momentarily dazed.

Wing hanging only by skin and a prayer Umbris knew he was in trouble, these weren't green fighters eager to prove their mettle, these were seasoned veterans of war, and as much as he was loathe to do it he needed aid. The other two were slowly encircling him taking their time with their attacks, a bad sign, but one he could use to his advantage. He turned to the rubble where the troggs sat, thoroughly enjoying the show, and snarled. "Cowardly vermin get down here and fight, rip them to shreds!"

The troggs needed no second bidding; they leapt down from the rubble their simian like bodies shambling toward Zaela who still lay on the ground stunned. The first few in the lead, suddenly halted, dropping dead, throwing knives deep in all their backs. Garona jumped them from behind. Grabbing one unfortunate trogg, by the back of its ragged shirt, she used him as a ram to push the others away. Screaming in rage and terror, the troggs began to chase the quick witted rogue who threw insults at them as she leapt and ducked around with a grace only the most talented of assassins possessed. Every time they thought they had her cornered the nimble rogue would once again escaped their grasp, causing much frustration and fury to the dim witted creatures. Putting a clawed hand to his face, Umbris knew the dim witted troggs would be of no more help to him, but on the bright side, only a priest stood in his way.

The Forsaken had backed away by a great distance, probably coming to the conclusion she was no match for mighty Umbris! Breaking into a crooked grin he began to charge with all his strength, determined to smash the priest to bits in one blow. His claws tore at the stone, breaking up huge chunks of earth as he charged. Cozwyn stood, quite at ease, as the behemoth Dragonkin raced to her; she hid a smiled, counting the seconds in her head before he would make impact.

"_3.…2.…1.…"_

Just as he should have rammed her, Umbris realized the priest had become some sort of intangible mass of black cloud. Unable to stop his momentum, he flew right through her and went crashing into the wall. There was a sickening crunch just as the Dragonkin hit the wall, a shock of pain ran through Umbris and he slumped to the stone in a broken heap of flesh and bone.

The black particles formed once again into a Forsaken. "I love doing that." Cozwyn laughed heartily.

Seeing their champion down, the troggs abruptly stopped chasing Garona, making all haste back into the safety of the debris. The rogue laughed at their cowardice, giving the primitive creatures no more thought and moved to stand beside Cozwyn. She kicked at Umbris' tail, nodding slowly in impression. "Not bad for someone in a dress."

"It's a robe." Cozwyn corrected feigning indignity and they shared a laugh.

Both sobered however as Zaela strode over to the stunned Umbris, she was favoring her left leg, the right looking swollen and bleeding. Putting her injured leg on top of the groaning general, she placed her axe under his neck. "Alright ugly, here's what I want to know, who led the attack on Dragonmaw port?"

"I'll never…tell." The Dragonkin croaked hoarsely, blood flecking his lip, and Zaela detected a faint hint of laughter in his garbled tone.

That only made her press the axe further to his neck, this time bringing a bit of blood and a growl of pain from the Dragonkin. "Thought not, that's why I brought this little beauty."

Maneuvering her free had, she unloosed the Demons Chain from around her wrist and let in dangle temptingly in front of Umbris. He was Dragonkin, not exactly dragon, but Zaela hoped it worked on his kind The Dragonkin's eyes suddenly grew wide and red, entranced by the large ruby like gem. A red haze formed between the gem and the general, creating a bright line that tethered the two. Zaela smiled in satisfaction as she moved the trinket from side to side and Umbris' head followed obediently in trance. "Good, now that I've gotten your attention let me ask again, who led the attack on Dragonmaw port?"

The Dragonkin was silent for a moment and Zaela could tell he was trying to fight the trinkets affect, but failed.

"…It…it was…Cho'gall's majordomo, over seeing the Red Fist base camp…Skullcrusher the Mountain by name."

Behind her Zaela could hear Garona offer a low curse, worry in her voice. If it had Garona worried, then that was a truly bad sign. Nevertheless, they'd have time to discuss that later, Zaela still needed answers from Umbris. "What did they attack the port for?"

"The Demon Chain…" Umbris replied hastily, it appeared with less will to fight.

The answer nearly made Zaela drop the trinket in shock. "Explain!" She snarled sending an extra wave of force through the chain making sure the Dragonkin was under complete control lest he be lying.

"The Demon Soul was used to control Alexstraza, but that was shattered when the Alliance defeated the Dragonmaw, those many years ago. The Demon Chain is its lesser sister trinket. Cho'gall has managed to find many of the shattered pieces of the Demon Soul in the rubble of Grim Batol, he wanted the chain to be like a core and re-forge the Demon Soul." Umbris replied hypnotically.

With a cry of rage, Zaela swung her axe, burying it deeply into Umbris' skull, his glazed over eyes still stapled to the Demon Chain while dead. Tears in her eyes, she looked at the Demon Chain in horror, it wasn't a big trinket about the size of a grown human fist but to think something so small cost her people so many lives. She had been carrying it with her that day she had left to talk with the Wildhammer. It hadn't been something she had even thought about, after her failed taming of Narkralls, the last owner of the chain, drake, she had thought the thing not even very powerful. She supposed it could still have some use however and had simply carried it about. Balling her hand into a fist she clutched the chain so tightly the sharp edges dug into her flesh brining blood. "A trinket…my people were nearly exterminated for a trinket!"

Quivering in rage that she had never known existed, Zaela pulled her hand back thinking to lob the accursed item into the abysmal lava that flowed under the city. Garona caught her by the wrist, staring the Dragonmaw Warchief in the eye. "You will just let Cho'gall have it then?"

"I'm getting rid of it." Zaela snarled, trying to shake the rogue off but found it impossible.

Even now it felt like a burning brand of shame in her palm. The sooner it was gone the better.

"How much you want to bet, that thing wont even get scratched by the lava, and don't think something a trivial as heat hot enough to melt flesh from bone will keep Cho'gall from still obtaining it. The safest place it can be until you find a proper use is wrapped around your wrist. Think!"

She was right, grief was deterring Zaela's common sense, it was blinding her. Zaela could not afford to be blind. She had to focus, and think properly, but for what, what was point? Revenge wouldn't bring her people back, and it wouldn't make her feel any better about the massacre. Zaela suddenly felt very, very tired, the whole situation seemingly far over her head. Garrosh had admitted to her wanting to run back to Outland when Orgrimmar had been destroyed, would that truly be a bad choice? To run away from it all, and forget it had ever happened, but she could do that no more than she could grow wings and fly. Nodding she let her hand fall back to her side pathetically. "You're right, I wasn't thinking."

The rogue placed a comforting hand on Zaela's free shoulder offering her an understanding smile. Pain jolted through Zaela's leg bringing her instantly aware of where they were once more. Leaning her back to the wall, next to Umbris, she sunk to the ground rubbing her throbbing leg, she hissed in pain as she touched it. "I fell on it wrong."

It wasn't broken but defiantly sprained; the bruise was a deep purple and tender to the touch.

"Alright, you two rest here a little while, Cozwyn see what you can do for Zaela's leg, I'll be back soon." Garona said, checking her belt, for on hand supplies.

Rubbing her injured leg, Zaela tilted her head up, an eyebrow arched in suspicion. "And where are you going in this wonderful place?"

"You know the old saying don't kill the courier, well I was never one for old sayings." Chuckling quietly, the rogue ran off, disappearing into the belly of the city.

Zaela laughed, shaking her head. "Somebody's about to have a bad day, huh, Cozwyn?"

When Cozwyn didn't reply the warrior looked to her intently. The forsaken priest knelt hunched over the battered leg warm healing energy emanated from her hand, her yellow eyes scanning the leg to make sure the flesh knitted properly back together. She spoke quietly, though there was no mistaking the scolding in her tone. "You want to tell me why you charged in there like a mad woman, and tried to take Umbris out with one chop?"

"Over eager was all." Zaela grumbled, crossing her arms.

The Forsaken scoffed, wrapping a bandage around a gash in the leg. "Over eager my rotting behind. Zaela, we had a plan and you threw caution to the wind. Garona was to distract him and you were to take out the troggs then we would wear him out."

"We got what we needed, didn't we?" Zaela replied.

Inwardly however she knew Cozwyn was correct, it had been reckless and stupid on her part and things could have gone worse than a busted leg. She would never admit it aloud, but she had wanted to strike first, for her own bloody pride, telling herself she was a better fighter than the assassin hoping it would make her feel a bit better about Garona and Garrosh. In the after math she knew it a ridiculous thought and horrid idea, but jealousy had overtaken any reason.

"Zaela you can't be so uncaring anymore, you have a people to lead, as much as you want to lope something's head off you must be patient, and many times stand in the background." Cozwyn explained, finishing the makeshift bandage.

The warrior growled quietly, but nodded in thanks for the healing on her leg. "Does your queen stay behind your men and let them do all the fighting?"

"No, but she certainly doesn't go gallivanting into every group of enemies she sees because she's love struck and wants to out-do some one she thinks is a threat but really isn't a threat at all."

The look of shock on Zaela's face would have made Cozwyn laugh had circumstances been different. The orcs jaw swung open, eyes wide, for a moment it looked if she had been put under hypnotism. Cozwyn waved her hand dismissingly, scoffing once more as she rose. "Don't look so surprised, I know of your infatuation with Warcheif Garrosh, I see it every time you get with-in spitting distance of him, and I wager Garona knows it as well which is why she did not confront you for abandoning the plan."

Was it that obvious? Did she wear her heart on her sleeve? How could she not when he took away all her senses when he was near. You can't think when your heart is doing back flips in your chest. Shaking her head fiercely Zaela grumbled. "To propose something of that nature is ridiculous."

"But do you deny it?" Cozwyn asked flashing the warrior a wry smile. "I was in love once to, I see all the signs. How you instantly perk up when you hear his voice, how you tell him what's what with out a second thought, and he actually listens! Even when you're angry and want to throttle him senseless, you still desire to be pulled close to him."

All Cozwyn said was true, and Zaela didn't know whether to burst into tears on the Forsaken's shoulder or to give her a right to the jaw. No man had ever made her the way Garrosh did. When he smiled at her, her blood hummed as it did when expecting battle, and when he was disappointed, she felt like a deserter having lost his honor, alone and lost with out a soul to aid them. Could such opposites exist for so long? Running a hand through the top knot of hair she chided herself, exist, there was nothing there in the first place! Giving a deep mournful sigh, Zaela dropped her head in her hands shaking it as if the motion would rid her of the thoughts and feelings.

"Garrosh's father, Grom Hellscream, freed us from our blood curse, Garrosh commanded a full army 100 times bigger than anything the Dragonmaw could have gathered up in Northrend, and now leads one of the mightiest nations on Azeroth." She barked out a mirthless ironic laugh. "And all I've managed to accomplish is getting my people massacred. Would an orc as strong as Garrosh truly be interested in me a…weakling compared to him?"

Cozwyn shrugged. "That is not for me to say. It is up to Garrosh."

There could be no way; he would shun her faster than she could get the words out. And then what? Leave her standing there clutching her heart as she had done the Demon Chain a few moments ago.

Zaela leaned her head back to the cool wall, closing her eyes tightly. "Yea, that's what I am afraid of…"


	8. No Rest For the Weary

"The Warchief returns!" A scout announced atop one of the rebuilt look-out towers.

The sight of clansmen and guards swarming the walls did Zaela's heart good as they set up a rallying cry. She walked with a slight limp, the injury from Umbris in Grim Batol still bothering her. Cozwyn had done a grand job in mending her wounds, but Zaela would feel a lot better when she had some good Dragonmaw medicine on it for a few days. For now however the cheering of her people was all the medicine she needed. She felt like her old confident self, striding through the gates, head held high, and watched in satisfaction as her captains ran to meet her. They all stopped before her kneeling and saluting awaiting the word of their Warchief.

"Have the Twilight Hammer been anywhere near our port?" She asked, as she walked past them.

The captains must have noticed her limp, and scurried to follow her, but far be it from one of them to say a word, fearing Zaela not to weak enough to land a blow to the gut.

"No." Came the near unison answer of all the captains as they slowed their pace to accommodate Zaela's own.

The reply was a welcome comfort to the tired warrior, who with every step, began to notice how exhausted and hurt she was. Biting her lip to stave off the pain she nodded. "Good. Have the medicine man, Gregor, come to my quarters in the clan hall, and see what he can do about this leg."

"But…" One of the captains piped up warily.

"No buts! If the Twilight Hammer cultists haven't been around of late I don't want to hear anything else about wars or enemies, or the whole damned thing!" Zaela growled back, her tone holding every inch of threat she could muster. If the Twilight Hammer were not in the vicinity then it was time for a well earned rest.

Entering the clan hall, she didn't have the strength to make it to her chambers. Gregor would see her, when he entered and he could tend her there. Tumbling down to a sitting fur she sat upright, working away the make shift bandage Cozwyn had placed over her leg. Her leg was still red and swollen, but more or less fully mended up, her hands massaged the aching limb and she hissed against the pain. She would have a mighty fine scar after it had been fully healed, one any bachelor would be impressed with by his potential suitor. Zaela scoffed at her self, rolling her eyes, at the first face that had appeared in her mind at the thought. Garrosh had probably finer scars that this on his big toe! To any one else, it might seem impressive, but for him, he'd probably snort at such a wound.

"For your sake, Zaela, I hope the information I was given about you changing the treaty with the Alliance was a figment of some over worked messengers imagination!" Garrosh roared, stomping into the clan hall.

This was probably what the captains wanted to tell her, Garrosh was here, and had obviously not taken the news of her change of plans very well. Why did it always seem like they met when he, she, or both were in an uproarious fury, could they never meet on peaceful terms? Zaela wondered about this for a few moments after the initial shock of suddenly seeing the huge orc come charging into her clan hall. His sudden presence had surprised Zaela for all of two seconds, before she reacted in kind. Striving to rise, she found her leg would have none of it and sank back down to the sitting fur, though her tone no less, outraged.

"Get out!" She growled, her eyes blazing. "You are not Warchief of this clan hall. I have grown sick of your fits of rage, and bursting in here as if you owned the place! Get out and come in here, as one Warchief to another, or I will ignore you presence."

"You shall do no such thing!" He snarled at her gripping his axe in his huge hands.

Zaela however didn't so much a grab for her axe; she tilted her head down, to continue massaging her aching leg.

He made no move to attack her, knowing his body would not reply to the command even if his brain had screamed it. Here she was ordering him about again. Garrosh stared at her trembling, looking as if he was about to burst like a balloon.

With a cry to the ancestors, tacked on with a black curse, he stomped out of the clan hall cursing all women. After taking a deep breath to steady himself, he stomped back in a few seconds later, no less, furious but more in control of his demeanor.

"You wanted to see me about something?" Zaela asked in furious calm, and any control Garrosh had previously regained flew out the window.

"Did you change the fel damned treaty?" He roared enough to shake the rafters it seemed.

"I did and it was in every bit of my right to do so!" Zaela replied, throwing any control to the wind as well, she was tired, and heart sick, and only wanted a few hours of merciful dreamless sleep.

He pointed a thick finger to her snarling. "You are under the Horde banner now, Zaela, I put up with your first little stint of stubbornness, allowing to the fact that you were new to having others to fight along side you. But you no better now and I will tell you what to do and when to do it!"

Garrosh knew that wasn't the truth by any means of the imagination, she ordered him around every time they met, but if he had revealed that then the conversation, which he should have well known in the first place, would have been pointless.

"The Dragonmaw have survived with out the Horde before; don't think we are mewling children clinging to our parents sword belts." Zaela replied angrily.

"Tread carefully Zaela; be wary of your next words." Garrosh growled dangerously, his tone low like far away thunder. "You speak of desertion."

"I speak of our alliance being no more beneficial if you choose to rule over us no differently than the fel orcs." She replied as a matter of fact.

That struck a hard raw nerve in Garrosh; it made his jaw clench and his muscles tense in rage. Fel orcs were those succumbed to the demon blood, which had technically made his father a fel orc before regaining his freedom. It was not something Garrosh desired to be compared to. Anyone else who would have had the nerve to say it would be lying dead at that moment but he knew, and so did she, that wasn't going to happen between them.

"Zaela, I will give you an ultimatum. Either continue the treaty as I have commanded, or when you choose to go to war with the Red-fist stand alone." Garrosh stated in a deadly calm, like a quiet before a storm.

A bit of him was laughing at himself, an ultimatum? An axe to the back of the head would have been better, seize the port, and keep it under heavy guard, but that would hurt Zaela and even in this state of rage he found himself in he did not desire to see that happen. Still, she would not be foolish enough to continue with her plan, which would be sheer suicide, going against the Red-fist with out the Hordes mighty army to back her up.

"Has Hellscream spoken his will?" She asked, with a slow deep breath.

He only replied with a nod.

"Then Dragonmaw stand alone." She declared quietly her eyes staring strait into his, fearless and stubborn clearly displaying her warrior's spirit.

Garrosh knelt down in front her, his body practically radiating anger, a part of him knew that would have been her answer, yet in his fury he had ignored that bit of common sense. He spoke in a low tone, holing all the rage he felt. "When your people are demolished once more, I will not be there for you to cling to and cry on, as with your first act of weakness. As I remember, only weeks ago, you were a pathetic girl hiding away in a destroyed clan hall."

She had struck a nerve with her comment about the fel orcs, and he was repaying in kind, instinctively knowing how to get under her skin. However, Zaela wasn't one to hold back her rage for long. With sudden fury, like a bolt of lightening, Zaela back handed the kneeling Hellscream with all her strength. The blow she delivered to his skull set bells off in his head, he could already feel the bruise began rising on his cheek. Before he could fall back she gripped his shoulder pulling him towards her, snarling. "If that day comes, Hellscream, and the Red-Fist win the battle, then I will need no shoulder to cry on, I shall be in the warrior's hall with my kin."

With that, she let him go, her brown eye seemingly hard as diamonds, never taking their piercing gaze off Garrosh as he rose, stomping out of the clan hall and cursing her profusely under his breath.

So he had though her weakling all along, an idiot not fit to rule the Dragonmaw. Even with her leg still aching in agony, it felt like nothing to the pain that had twisted into her heart with Garrosh's words, confirming her deepest fears. Zaela turned her face away from the door as a tear slid down her cheek. She wiped away at it angrily, telling herself there was no need for tears, she was far stronger than that, to let his words bury themselves so deep into her.

"That's all they were, words, they don't mean anything." She whispered to herself quietly just as the medicine man shuffled in.

"Took you long enough." She growled to hide any hint of her quickly failing emotions.

"I was none to keen on getting my head bitten off." He replied, kneeling down beside her and opening his satchel.

The smells of Twilight Jasmine and dragon blood wafted through the air as he began mixing his supplies for a poultices and salves.

"How many people heard us screaming?" She asked as he ground herbs to prepare the salve. The smells of herbs and spices were actually soothing, helping take away Zaela's anger along with the pain.

"Everyone." He looked up to her, suddenly, his eyes holding well justified fear. "We are marching to war on in a few days with out the added protection of the Horde, what shall we do?"

For that, Zaela only had one answer; she ran a hand through her hair, giving a deep tired sigh. "We pray for a miracle."


	9. RedFist

_A:N- Sorry for the delay, due to hurricane Irene my power went out, and it wont get back on for another week! Yay for libraries…_

_~8~8~_

"Well there it is ladies, the Bastion of Twilight." Zaela pointed to the towering black mass of buildings along the mountain ridge grimly.

The trio rode cautiously, lest any wandering Twilights Hammer be near by and also taking in the challenge before them. Dark clouds constantly swirled over the mountain top hiding away the full extent of Cho'gall's base.

There were only two ways in, either by flight or the path blocked by the Red-Fist ogres. Zaela's first inclination had been to send the drake riders in to breath down hell on the minions of Deathwing. She had sent one brave soul out there to check where the defenses lay, and watched in dismay as lightening crashed from the mystical clouds shriveling the rider to char and ash. The cloud, it appeared, was not just a symbol of Deathwings evil. They had been working closely with the Earthen Ring to dismiss the cloud defense, but progress was slow, so going through the ogres was at the time their only option.

Zaela stopped her wolf, Bloodhowl, to stare at the reinforced ogre mound. Cho'gall was certainly making sure no one was getting up on that mountain. Ogres and eetins were the main defense, deadly with both weapons and magic. They had constructed huge watch towers so the eetins could be look out in all direction, therefore no surprise attacks would ensue. It would be tough to bring them down, which Zaela had fully expected, the only saving grace being that on the other side of the dreaded base, Alliance were doing much the same effectively pinning the Red-Fist. She smiled at the ironic thought of actually being happy to see Alliance.

Spurring Bloodhowl into a slow trot once more, the trio quickly arrived at Crushblow. The small out lying post had been turned into a war command center basically over night. Engineers were hard at work finishing off catapults and siege engines for the assaults. Trolls bat-riders, sent from their chieftain Vol'jin wandered about the stables, while some patrolled the skies. Before their argument, which still weighed heavily on Zaela, Garrosh had sent two regiments of Kor'kron elites mingling with the sparse Dragonmaw warriors.

His last words to her brought anger and regret surging back into her heart. Weak. She was weak to him. The emotion of anger won between regret, and she scowled. Cursing his name inwardly, she pushed him away from the forefront of her mind to address her men.

All halted and turned to salute as the three rode into the war camp; each person looked tired and worn, but in every eye held the distinct hunger for battle. The captain overseeing the camp till Zaela's return came marching forward; he offered a stiff salute before taking off his helm and tucking it firmly under an arm. "Warchief, glad you made it with out to much difficulty."

"I'm only glad I got here before you all took all the fun, Bor'lock." She laughed dismounting Bloodhowl. Zaela noticed immediately at only a few who chuckled, the others somber and silent.

The orc captain scratched his five o'clock shadow, a grim frown on his weathered, battle hardened face. "Sometimes too much fun is a bad thing…"

"What's been happening, old friend?" She asked turning to stare at the ogre mound.

Bor'lock sighed, shaking his head. "Where to begin, their defenses are near impenetrable, ogre mages prevent our more powerful magical champions from doing much good, and the war-"

"We know all of this already." Zaela interrupted readily. She didn't need her soldiers morale brought any lower than what she was already witnessing. "What's the real problem?"

"It's not what, it's _who._" Bor'lock replied warily.

To explain, he handed Zaela a weathered spyglass, pointing to the path that lead to the Bastion of Twilight. It took the Warchief a moment to zone in on what he was pointing to, but when she did, she understood why Garona had cursed when General Umbris had mentioned Skullcrusher. Skullcrusher the mountain was a Gron, a towering monstrosity with red and blackish taunt skin. Bone protrusions jutted from on his back and arms those seemingly weapons themselves. One huge eye was in the center of his oddly misshapen small skull and his mouth was full of a set of jagged two edged teeth that would have put a dragon to shame. His bulbous arms were almost simian, how he rested on his knuckles overlooking the Red-fist forces. His only clothes a large loin cloth covering his waist. Zaela had seen him far off in the distance, but he had been prone, and she'd mistaken him for a huge boulder! At the bottom of his clawed feet were torn pieces of Kor'kron and bat riders, missing arms and legs which it appeared the Gron preferred to snack upon. In Zaela's mind however, those corpses where replaced by Dragonmaw innocence, running and screaming unable to protect themselves from the monster that was now in the orcess' sights.

A fury gripped the Dragonmaw Warchief so badly she didn't realize how hard she was gripping the spyglass until the wood splintered and the glass cracked. Bor'lock noticed her reactionof sheer fury and nodded, spitting a curse. "Ugly brute, aint the? He's been stymieing all our best efforts to put a dent in their defenses. His names Sk-"

"Skullcrusher the Mountain." Zaela said, voice gone of all emotion.

The captain looked to her in surprise, nodding. Pointing in the Gron's direction with the shattered remains of the spy glass Zaela turned to address the soldiers. "Do you see that black mass high up on the ridge? That…thing, that abberation is what marched upon Dragonmaw port and slew our people! And now he is keeping us from our revenge on the Red-Fist and the Twilight ilk!"

It appeared her words were almost magical in nature, as all Dragonmaw leapt up. The mysterious terror that had slain their kin made known had shattered their disparity with in a blink of an eye. Many were shouting, their weapons brandished towards the noon day sun.

"Death to the Red-fist!"

"My father was slain by that monstrosity; I want his head on a spike!"

"We will march upon them at once!"

Zaela had known it a clever tactic to show the poster boy of their rage, so close to the vengenace that was to come. It was the jump start that the Dragonmaw needed. The camp turned from sluggish and sullen to vibrant workings each with that one goal in mind, defeat Skullcrusher and redeem their fallen kin.

"Brilliantly handled." Cozwyn said pulling Zaela aside, her coarse tone holding admiration.

Zaela shook her head. "All I have done is given a name to the foe. It makes it no less difficult."

Cozwyn nodded in agreement and both turned to Garona who stood, arms crossed, staring intently upon the Bastion of Twilight. "He's in there somewhere, that two headed fel spawn Cho'gall." The rogue whispered.

There had been stories about what had happened to Garona Half-orcen, stories that made Zaela shiver just thinking of them. There had been no hint of pain concerning the rogue until now; she bit her bottom lip attempting to restrain tears fist curled tightly. Zaela attempted to place a comforting hand on the rogue's shoulder but pulled back when Garona flinched.

"Sorry." Garona murmured sheepishly. Seeing the look of concern in Zaela's and Cozwyn's face. "I…I just need to be alone for a bit, do a little killing to clear my head."

With as much help as she had been, Zaela could hardly protest the request, though the sooner they all got down to work the better.

"By all means, go cause a little havoc." Cozwyn urged shooing the orcess off.

Garona flashed them both a smile, disappearing into the night, more than likely heading for the base. Zaela sighed patting the Forsaken on the back. "C'mon Cozwyn, we've got work to do."

The priest nodded, though knowing that would be far easier said than done.

~8~8~

Garrosh sighed tiredly as he dragged himself to his private quarters in Grommash hold. He slid off the heavy bone paldrons from his shoulders not even caring to place them on there stands. His axe fell from his hands landing with a heavy thud, lying carelessly on the floor. With a grunt, he fell face down on the fur covered bed trying to force himself to go into slumber, but as usual it avoided him. Another night of restless turning, or drunken oblivion from a wine flask, seemed to be the only options nowadays.

"What, standing around all day doing nothing has got the big bad Warchief all tuckered out?" A coarse mocking voice laughed.

Garrosh groaned, though remained prone on the bed, only one assassin he knew could breach the entire defense of Grommash hold. "If I had any energy I'd chase you down for that little remark, Garona. Shouldn't you be in the Twilight Highlands helping that mule-headed woman Zaela?"

Even after a month the argument was a fresh wound in his side. Zaela was a stubborn woman who would get her people killed going against his wishes and the sooner she realized that the sooner he would forgive her impudence and things could go back to the correct order. That's what would happen, in time letting her see how much she needed him. She would beg on her hands and knees for his forgivness. He was sure of it.

The lithe rogue sat on the edge of the bed, her tone serious. "I came to warn you of a threat on Zaela's safety."

Garona stifled laughter as she saw Garrosh scrambled upright, all tiredness pushed away.

Was Zaela okay? Even if he had had an argument with her, he desired to protect her. His eyes found his axe lying forgotten on the floor, and he made way to retrieve it but Garona halted him to continue. "Peace Garrosh, there is nothing you can do about it yet. There is a spy about the Dragonmaw. I don't know who it is, but I do know it is someone close to her."

"Cozwyn?" Garrosh growled. If Sylvanas had sent a spy that ended up betraying both the Dark Lady and Zaela, then he would have a sharp word with the Banshee Queen, or maybe even a sharp axe for her neck!

Garona shook her head. "No, Cozwyn is as loyal as they come, but still some one close, so close I haven't been able to revel my fears but to you and Cozwyn."

"In fears that Zaela might tell the exact person who could be her betrayer." Garrosh concluded.

Garona nodded, though inwardly she was laughing, Garrosh and Zaela had to be the most bumbling couple, on the face of Azeroth, as much as they tried to deny one another in a pinch both would abandon those restraints, stubborness, and anger to run to the other. The orcess could see it now, Garrosh's panic by her very name. Garona would bet he would run to Deathwing himself if Zaela was in the vile dragon's clutches.

"What should I do?" Garrosh asked pacing, concern etching his features.

"Nothing yet, keep an eye out for people who come in the name of the Dragonmaw, and for the spirits sakes don't do anything stupid." Garona replied laughing.

Before Garrosh could reply with a trite comment the rogue had vanished leaving him alone with his thoughts. His instincts wanted to run to where Zaela was and stick to her like glue to protect her from all harm. It was he who would stand beside her and provided her safety from foe on all sides. He needed to protect that woman…his woman.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Garrosh roared aloud, kicking over a nearby chair. "She is not my woman she is…is…" When he found nothing more he nearby he could topple over, he sighed sinking to the floor his voice quieter. "Driving me insane. Every night that passes she is the only one I think of." Laughing, Garrosh threw his hands up helplessly. "And now I am talking to myself…spirits help me."

Once again a sleepless night would pass in Grommash hold, the only change more worry for the woman who never left his mind.


	10. Plague and Betrayal

_A-N: My power is back! I noticed some major errors in chapter nine so I will be revising that chapter. _

_~8~8~_

The sun, shimmering off the pools of rain water mixed with blood on the battlefield in between Crushblow and the Red-fist encampment, told the tale of yet another failed attempt to breach the sturdy Red-fist base. It had rained that entire day making the field treacherous, only in the dusk had the sun thought to peek through the clouds to reveal the full extent of the battle. The bodies of many ogres and eetins lay spread out across the landscape, far more than there were Horde soldiers, but there had been a good chunk of soldiers who'd lost their lives today as well.

While the Alliance mourned the losses of their soldiers by giving grand speeches, and preaching on how terrible war was, the Horde cheered for their fallen comrades, there was no greater glory than to be slain battling a worthy foe. To commemorate their losses, the Horde did not put their names of slabs of stone, something cold and would crumble with the rain and wind, but told their tales by the midnight fires, until they became as legend . And there would be many new tales this night.

Zaela cursed under her breath, her eyes roving over the carnage. The Warchief scoured the battlefield for salvable weapons and injured who could be saved by what few healers they had. The stoic orcess had to turn away at some of the horrid mess' awaiting her. Orc bodies squished, literally under two and three ogres, brain matter coating the muddy ground transforming the dirt into a disgusting brownish pink tint. To her left Captain Bor'lock was turning over bodies, having the hard task of identifying the dead. He solemnly closed every eye, marking down a name on the scroll he held then moving on.

"We lost 40." Zaela stated to Cozwyn, coming to know instinctively when the forsaken was near.

For the months they had laid siege to Red-fist, Zaela had come to trust, if not totally depend on the Forsaken priest. It had been a bit disconcerting to the other Dragonmaw who wanted to know why the Warchief had officially named Cozwyn her second in command. Some had wondered had the often taciturn, clever Forsaken had placed an enchantment on their leader. The simple truth to it was, she was a faithful friend, trustworthy and reliable in the heat of battle, and in the tough decisions.

"Compared to their 200 slain, not a bad price to pay." Cozwyn countered, walking to stand beside the warrior.

They were only words of encouragement, both knowing more would be sent down from the Bastion in a week's time.

"200 they can replace." Zaela growled in frustration just speaking aloud what they were both thinking. If one could take down 8 of Cho'gall's ilk, then 16 more would arrive in their place, and when that one Dragonmaw warrior fell there was no replacing him. Hell, with all the rain even her siege engines were stuck, bringing the assault to a temporary halt.

Zaela spat out a black curse. "We can't win this siege, Cozwyn, not like this anyhow, we have to be cleverer than frontal attacks."

Suddenly a cry of agony sounded out from the Red-fist camp and both leaders smiled. A few minutes later, a lone figure came running out of the base and quickly made its way towards the pair. Garona stopped in front of the pair, bended over her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath from her sprint. "I have good news and bad new, the good news first, that's a couple more ogres who won't be killing your forces anymore."

"I'd be happier if you said a couple hundred," Zaela chuckled before turning serious once more. "And the bad?"

Garona nodded absently as she sheathed her daggers. "I am leaving. I have information on Cho'gall's whereabouts in the Bastion."

It was a surprise to say the least to the Dragonmaw leader who tried hard to show that the words hadn't bothered her as much as they really did.

"You're going to leave us just like that? Garona we need you, you're one of our saving graces here." Zaela said her frustration replaced by disbelief and disparity.

"I came here to seek my revenge, I am sorry I can't help you more, but Cho'gall is my main priority. I wish you the best."

With that the rogue was gone leaving a stunned Zaela behind. Shaking her head Zaela forced herself not to be caught in hopelessness, even though her best assassin had seemingly abandoned them.

"I wish her the best." Cozwyn sighed quietly.

Zaela turned sharply to meet the forsaken in the eye, glaring murder down upon her. "You wish her the best? We're stuck in a war with out anyway of winning and you're wishing _her_ the best?"

"A soul is difficult to heal, Zaela." The priest countered evenly.

The warrior orcess knew that all to well, but caught in her rage it hardly mattered what her common sense told her. Zaela snorted rudely, stomping off to search for more wounded. "Let that deserter never find peace, I wish her death and destruction, and pla-" The Dragonmaw Warchief stopped suddenly, as if struck the last word of her rant stuck in her throat and mind.

She stood there staring into nothing for a long time before, a smile slowly came to her lips. Nodding to herself Zaela broke out into laughter, turning back to Cozwyn. "Come Cozwyn, I think I have the plan that will win us this battle."

The priest arched a rotting brow quizzically, but nodded, following the now nearly cheerful Zaela. Had the orcess finally snapped at something so trivial as Garona leaving? With her falling out with Garrosh, she had been more disparaged of late. After a moment Cozwyn shook the thought away, Zaela was in sound mind but what plan she had to defeat the Red-Fist eluded her.

As they entered the command tent at Crushblow Zaela grabbed a nearby pitcher and mug pouring some ogre mead from a raid taken days before, eagerly digging into her newly hatched plan. "What's the one thing every person on Azeroth fears?"

The priest took a seat on a nearby chair, giving a quizzical shrug of her bony shoulders.

"Plague." Zaela answered with a smile.

Cozwyn could only, shake her head. "A good idea, but Garrosh banned the use of it after the Wrath-gate."

The Forsaken lost her grin, shuddering at the thought of the terrible disaster that had happened at the wrath-gate. She nor any Forsaken ever, wanted something like that ever again. Any progress they had made in the world to except them had been shattered on that one day, maybe never to be mended. No, Cozwyn had silently promised herself that day, she would never let something like that happen again, even if it meant killing her own queen.

"Not real plague." Zaela explained hurriedly, seeing the intense pain in Cozwyn's yellow eyes. For a moment she regretted bringing it up, she could sympathize with the forsaken about seeing her people and allies slain all about from something that could have and should have been prevented. "Fake stuff to convince those dim wits at Red-fist. Look, here's the plan…"

~8~8~

Cozwyn had been to the warrior city of Orgrimmar on many an occasion. She had even called it home for a number of months, when the Forsaken first joined the ranks of the Horde. But so much had changed since those days when the Far seer, Thrall had ruled. Nothing looked the same from how she recalled. The priest chuckled as she witnessed visitors and citizens of the city milling about, the auction house and bank, coming and going from their destinations of simple trade to legendary battles. At least some things never changed.

The dry Durotar dust dirtied the bottom of her robes as she approached Grommash hold. She could feel the blazing sun slowly bleaching her bones from a dull yellow to a snow white tint as she waited for the guards to inform the Warchief she had arrived. After a few moments, Kor'kron guards allowed her to pass with out hindrance knowing she usually came a couple time a months to personally deliver updates of the battle on the base of the mountain and announcing her to Garrosh was only proper procedure.

The Warchief, sat languidly in the towering throne seemingly bored, however the alertness in his eyes and jerky movements gave away the eagerness he felt. He waited for word of Zaela's plans mostly now because he was still angry about their last encounter a few months ago. To pick out her flaws, would show her she had no idea what she was doing, and hopefully admit she'd been wrong and he knew best.

"Report, lady Cozwyn" Garrosh ordered gruffly.

The priest took a deep, yet un-needed breath before she dove in. "So far we have not been able to breach the Red-fist base. But, in the past 24 hours, Zaela has concocted a well thought out plan to change that."

A superior smile came to Garrosh's lips, he had known as much. Her plan probably concluded to her getting back in his good graces so that he could send a couple war parties into the Highlands, but he would only except her plan with an admittance she was wrong about her plans with the Alliance treaty. Garrosh made a beckoning gesture for her to continue.

Cozwyn faltered some what but forced herself onward. "In a week, she plans to use plague to kill the Red-Fist or draw them out into the open so that we may battle properly. She then plans to sneak the Kor'kron assassins, you placed under her command months ago, up the mountain as the main forces are distracted. We will then create a portal, upon the ridge, which should be able to teleport our remaining forces right atop the mountain."

Before Cozwyn could utter another word, before she could even blink, she suddenly found herself looking up at the ceiling with a huge brown orc standing over her shaking in rage. Garrosh had no doubt this was the spy, Garona's opinion be dammed! Kneeling down to her, the Warchief grasped the Forsaken by her chin clutching tightly so that she could only look him in the eye. "What lies have you been poisoning Zaela with, huh? That the plague is harmless, that it will gain her victory? Did you mention the part where you turn upon her at the last moment as your kind did at the Wrath-gate. Guards, arrest this Forsaken traitor."

"No! You don't understand…" Cozwyn tried explaining only to have Garrosh land a jaw shattering blow to the priest knocking her senseless.

"Enough lies out of you, save it until I can have you 'questioned'." He growled, walking back to his throne.

Watching as the guards dragged the forsaken out, Garrosh couldn't help but feel the tiniest speck of satisfaction, he had saved Zaela from a horrid fate, and more importantly he had been right! Turning all her forces from the Alliance, had only succeeded in letting them garner a stronger foot hold in the Highlands and blind her to traitors in her midst. Maybe even the traitor forsaken had mentioned the idea to Zaela. Perhaps she would see what a fool hardy thing it was to attack the Red-Fist with her people alone and do as he requested by trading the prisoners with the Alliance.

For a few seconds he toyed with the thought of her admitting she was wrong, and throwing herself in his arms begging for his forgiveness. It was an amusing little thought that actually made the usually grumpy Garrosh chuckle.

"Hail, Warchief." A voice cried out from the entrance to the throne room.

The guards let a Dragonmaw orc pass, clad in his finest warrior regalia. Garrosh recognized him immediately as one of Zaela's captains, Bor'lock by name. He saluted to Garrosh who saluted back, smiling now in good humor from Zaela having been saved from disaster.

"Greetings warrior, what brings you to my kingdom?"

"I was with lady Cozwyn and couldn't help but notice her being dragged out and led to the dungeons." The captains tone was one of whom was unsure and worried. Cozwyn had been of course, Zaela's second in command.m

Garrosh lost his smile a spat a curse at the name. "You've come on bad terms then, that forsaken you were with was a traitor."

The orc shook his head sadly, though it seemed his shoulders slumped in relief. "We all thought as such, but Zaela would have none of it. She was being mind controlled if you ask me. But Zaela still needs to be informed of your orders on the matters at hand."

Garrosh laughed placing a heavy hand on the captain's shoulder. "Good man, always putting duty first. Tell Zaela she is to not use the plague but have it destroyed, but I approve of the plan to sneak the assassins up on the ridge."

"At once, Warchief." Bor'lock saluted, and briskly walked out.

A few hours later one of the guards who had dragged Cozwyn to the cells came back. He saluted sharply, standing by for orders.

"Is the Forsaken awake yet?" Garrosh asked, still feeling self satisfied.

"Yes Warchief." The guard nodded.

Garrosh rose with a heavy grunt, smiling as he made way for the door. "Good, it's time I see what the traitor has to say for herself."

Garrosh hadn't had a good torture session in months, mainly due to the fact those who had been found innocent and released often left with horrendous scars and disfigured limbs, retelling their frightening tales so that others wouldn't go down that path.

The walk to the dungeons was a short one, it was a rounded building like many in the city, with a low red tiled room. The only difference was the bars, and guards patrolling the grounds. Inside was dark and mostly cool, with few items in each cell, a piss pot and a slit window were all the luxury the prisoners were afforded. At the back wall, rested a dozen or so small torture devices that the guards would use on the minor criminals for crimes such as stealing some of the more high end items on the auction houses and those sorts of things. Behind that wall, however was a secret room carved in the rock that held the 'big boys' as the guards called them, reserved for spies and traitors. That, Garrosh had readily determined, was where Cozwyn was headed.

Cozwyn rested on the dirt floor, bony knees tucked up to her chest, eyes shut as if praying. Garrosh knew, she probably was, thinking of the fate that awaited her. She had no doubt heard of the 'big boys' as well.

He all but swaggered up to the cell bars leaning on them, "Not so conniving and sneaky now are you, undead?"

"I was being neither, Warchief." Cozwyn countered simply. "By keeping me here you prevent me from helping Zaela."

"Helping?" Garrosh spat. "Is trying to create another Wrath-gate helping? Answer me you pathetic bag of bones."

Cozwyn jumped up suddenly, causing Garrosh to step away from the bars as the priest ranted. "You think your people are the only ones who experienced tragedy that day? Those who betrayed you were supposed to be your allies, but they were are brothers and sisters. Let's also not forget, their were other Forsaken who died down at the Wrath-gate as well, those who still had their loyalties to the Horde! Even though those who conspired with the demon Varimatheras are dead, we remaining forsaken must still hang our heads in shame for what occurred. Do you think we would want that again? The plague we are going to use on the Red-fist isn't real, you moron!"

Garrosh blinked a few times in surprise at the normally calm Forsaken's rant. Inwardly however he was berating himself, how foolish was he not to think Zaela would not have had things in order. Was he so over protective and thinking his ideas superior, didn't register she was a capable warrior in her own right? He recovered quickly though, feeling rather foolish, yelling right back. "Why didn't you say so then?"

"Did Garona not warn you, there are spies about!" The forsaken hissed urgently. "The plan was kept between me, Zaela, and Garona, no one in our forces or yours were to know of the plan to sneak up the mountain until I delivered the news to you and by then the attack would already have begun to start."

Garrosh tactfully kept back a sigh of relief, he had not blundered to greatly then, only his most trusted handpicked guardsmen knew, and they would keep the secret as they had many, to their graves.

"All is well then." He informed Cozwyn as he jingled about for the cell key, he pulled open the rusted door with a small grunt and let her walk out. "I have already sent your traveling companion back with a message to Zaela. Knowing her, she will still go forward with the attack so no harm no foul."

"Companion?" Zaela's brows knitted together in confusion. "Warchief, I came alone…"


	11. Betrayed

_A-N: When you see ( ) it means Cho'gall's second, one-eyed, head is speaking._

~8~8~

Rain fell in driving sheets in the Highlands; a violent sporadic storm had swirled up sometime in the late after noon. Thunder clapped above the heads of the Crushblow warriors, who pushed and pulled at the catapults to drive them through the mud. Rope burns scarred the hands of the Dragonmaw Warchief who pulled beside her soldiers as they trudged through the rain. The storm was both a blessing and a curse as far as Zaela was concerned. A curse because her men who be tired after lugging the catapults in place, but a blessing for the chaos the rain and noise would have.

"Stop, the catapults are close enough!" An engineer screamed out to be heard from the howling wind and booming thunder.

Wiping a mixture of sweat and rain from her eyes, Zaela made her way to the forefront of the catapults, her shoulders just a bit straighter, head just a tad higher. This would finally show that pig headed Garrosh she was not weak, but a strong conqueror of her foe. If this worked, she would come back home a success, riding at the head of her victorious warriors and behind them beast of burdened carrying the treasures plundered from the Red-fist and leaving the base nothing more than a smoldering pile of ash. Only then would she be able to face Garrosh eye to eye and not be bothered by what ever he thought of her, yet a dreaded feeling in her gut told the orcess that was a lie, she would always care what he thought. No matter her achievements, his rare grin and faint nod of his head would be the best encouragement and approval of all. Shaking the thoughts off for now, Zaela knew it fateful to have those thoughts wandering in her mind when she had bloody business at hand.

With a firm nod of her head to the mage next to her, a troll, standing at the ready, cast a spell so that her voice could be heard across the expanse of field to the Red-fist. "Hear me, minions of Deathwing, the Dragonmaw bring to you an enemy you cannot fight with magic or steel." She made a forward motion with her hand, before continuing, and half of her assassins slipped off into to the entrance of the Red-Fist camp. "We bring plague to you! Let your feet bruise and blister, and your body be wrought with a thousand dagger like stings! May you go paralyzed so that we may finish you when we march upon your base!"

Even from the distance she was at, Zaela could see some of the ogres and eetins looking to one another warily. Plague was something inhaled, or seeped into the body, the slow creatures had no knowledge on how to fight it. Some looked to Skullcrusher for orders, as they usually did, but the Gron had already left, heading for higher ground in the Bastion of Twilight not wishing to take his chances in case the plague was truly lethal. The Warchief flashed a wicked smile seeing the enemy truly become very worried. Having the cowardly Gron abandon them was an added bonus to passing the plague off as the real deal. Ordering for the catapults to fire, Zaela stood back to watch the show.

With a huge whoosh of air, then a high pitched whistle, the canisters of 'plague' went soaring through the clouded sky. The plague was actually a mixture of the components that produced a rogue's smoke bomb, some highland skunk glands, and cinder bloom pigment mixed with green dye. As the canisters hit the red fist base, they exploded on impact sending the non lethal concoction spreading out in wide clouds. Chaos broke out instantly to the red-fist defenders, jumping from foot to foot, and crying out to their companions.

"Stink bad."

"Green stuff chokes!"

"Me no can blow it away!"

With all the confusion the assassins, Zaela had sent ahead, had no trouble slipping into the base. They immediately went to work, weaving in and out of the stinky smoke, stabbing at bare, hairy feet with their daggers, to bring blisters, and using lengths of near invisible rope to trip the enemy up making them think they had gone paralyzed.

Zaela made sure the voice enhancement spell had been dispelled, before laughing at the ogre's stupidity. "Alright the rest of you assassins come with me, the coast is clear, it should be child's play to get up the mountain now."

Going to her belt, the warrior pulled out a small vial, filled with clear liquid. The priestess, Cozwyn, had concocted the potion just for Zaela so that she could pass unnoticed like the assassins. Zaela frowned thinking of the forsaken, Cozwyn was to be by her side when the attack started but so far there had been no sight or sound of her. However, she knew from experience the priest could take care of herself and tried to focus on the matter at hand. Popping the cork off she held her nose before drinking the potion that made her invisible for a time. She nodded that she was ready to the assassins and the slowly made they way to the base.

The only difficult challenge, getting to the path that led to the bastion of twilight, was dodging all the running and swatting ogres who, in all the chaos, actually thought they had been struck with plague! The going was slow, and by the time the assault group had made it to a bend in the sloping path they needed a breather.

"Alright men, a few more feet and we'll make it to the lake atop the mountain, we'll set up a base across the la-" She stopped, furrowing her brows, there was a slight rumbling under her plate boots, and tingling of magic, like cobwebs, drifting across her skin. "Wait do you hear that?"

Before anyone could move, or even blink, a dark cloud materialized at the top of the path. The monstrous ogre, Cho'gall, towered above all the assassins. The eyes on his body looked in every direction, and the two heads stared straight at them. The head with two eyes smiled at them wickedly, as he clapped his hands clearly unimpressed. "So the Dragonmaw chieftain managed to finally get past those dim wits down there. (Haha, little gnats get smart.) That imp Bor'lock finally did something right. ( We reward him with sword in back!)"

Bor'lock…Zaela's heart sank, so he had been the traitor, she had trusted him fully, having aided her in the rebellion. It pained her to know such a good orc had succumbed to the evil, but also filled her with rage at herself wondering why she hadn't been more vigilant.

"And now, Warchief Zaela, I believe you have something I want. (Demon chain, give it, give it, give it!.)" Cho'gall laughed.

Zaela snarled, brandishing her axe, the demon chain hanging tempting from her wrist. "You'll never get this while I breath!"

The monstrous ogre, shook his heads pityingly, and with a flick of the wrist sent dark energy shooting to the assassins. Every orcish assassin, paled, before giving a nearly unified cry, slumping to the ground, leaving Zaela the only one alive. Before she could move away, the dark energy flared out again, but not killing her, instead if lifted her by her neck, hanging her in mid air. Zaela gasped in vain, trying desperately to catch her breath, as she clung on the nearly intangible dark cords that wrapped around her neck.

Cho'gall walked leisurely to the choking orcess, chuckling as he did so. "You know it's not proper to make promises you cant keep. (Still breath, but not for long!)" With that he delicately plucked the charm right off the chain that held it, curling his fist tightly around the coveted prize. Both faces smirked to her nastily. "And now you die. (Bye by-)"

Like a black streak of lightening, Garona leapt from atop the ridge, tackling Zaela from out the death grip. As she did so, a free hand flung a high potent mixture of blinding dust at both Cho'gall's faces.

The monster screamed in rage, using a hand to wipe away at his burning eyes. By the time he had cleared away the dust, all three eyes were wet with tears of pain, but the snarling mouths told a different tale, not of pain, but of fury.

"Garona…" The most cultured of the twin heads growled dangerously. Looking around, keenly to see if he could spot her. The one eyed head laughed manically. "( Come out come out, where ever you are.)"

In truth Cho'gall was scared silly of the rogue, having been trained and imbued with strength from the council and brain washed by himself. The orcess had sworn revenge on Cho'gall and he had never known Garona not to keep her word. But, he knew Garona's tactics, how she operated, that would be a sign to her coming if nothing else was. She hadn't gone far, he knew, she wouldn't leave with the object of her hatred so close.

"I know you're still here Garona. I still have what I want, you've not stopped the master's plan from coming to fruition. My minions will find you, and bring me you and the Warchief Zaela's heads!"

After hearing nothing by the cries below, of the ogres being slaughtered, and the whistling wind, Cho'gall, spoke a simple phrase in a long dead language and was gone in a flash of purple light.

Nothing moved for long minutes, until a nearby rock, shifted to the form of two orcs, one slumped unconscious on the ground.

"A fine mess, we're in Garona." The rogue whispered to herself, as she wondered if she could possibly lug the plate bound Zaela up the path that led to the Bastion.

She already knew Cho'gall's plan would be to send his forces down the path and set extra patrols, knowing she was in no means strong enough to drag Zaela for very far, and she couldn't rightly leave her alone battered and unconscious making her a sitting duck. The hiding place they were at now was perfect, for the time being, sheltered from prying eyes and far out the way.

Zaela was already beginning to regain consciousness with a few moans. Garona shoved the prone figure disdainfully. "Wake up already Zaela we need to move. Cho'gall's scum will be scouring for us even now."

Zaela could hear the faint echo of a voice, swirling in the back of her mind. She briefly thought it was Garrosh's and wanted to curl into the safety of his arms before realizing it was Garona who spoke. "I…uh….where…?"

"In a jam." Garona spat quietly, her eyes constantly on the move searching for nearby enemies. "We need to get down the mountain, fast."

Zaela had fully come to, now, a hand rubbed her neck, burning with evil magic. In the base, the fights were still out in full but it didn't look as if the Dragonmaw were winning, the plague was dissipating, and the ogres were coming to realize they'd been tricked. She dared a glance at the base of the path, to see the bodies of the assassins all with massive gaping holes in their chests. All of them, had come upon her demand to Garrosh, and all of them had given their lives for the Dragonmaw, men and women with children and families now destroyed. She could imagine Garrosh shaking his head at her cowardice to run down the mountain after they had gotten so close to their goal.

Zaela had failed, there was no sugar coating it. Like salt on a raw wound she rubbed the stinging word into her soul as punishment. Failure was the sister of dishonor, a little statement all orcs knew, and acts no orc would ever desire, especially Zaela. Only in death could a warrior keep their honor in failure, knowing they had fought to the glorious end. Yet she lived on, the thought was less than pleasant to say the least. She would have to go back to Dragonmaw port like a defeated wolf with its tail in-between its legs, her head dropped in shame. She didn't even want to imagine the words Garrosh would have for her. No, she couldn't go back, not having it end like this. Zaela snarled curling her fist, she rose determinedly. She had to redeem her honor somehow.

"It doesn't matter if we can or cant get down. I am not leaving without lugging Skullcrusher's head behind me."

Staring down a suicidal mission with out blinking, showing no sign of weakness even after a failed battle. Garona shook her head, in amusement, Garrosh and Zaela truly were a matched pair.

"Cozwyn may be the only one who will be able to reach us, if you truly desire to go through with this then we will be on our own." Garona informed her, though had a large smile on her face already knowing the answer.

Zaela nodded stoically. "Then let it be so. It's high time Skullcrusher paid his dues."


	12. Bleeding Heart

"Warchief, you must eat." A servant said, nearly pleading, his hands holding the steaming platter of mead roasted boar.

It was a whole baby boar on a platter, dribbling with juices, with a cactus apple in his mouth. Thick slices of bread lay spread on the side, a simple meal, but Garrosh's favorite. Garrosh shook his head but offered not a word, flicking his hand for the meal to be removed from his presence. Frightened, but concerned for his Warchief, the servant tried again, pressing the tempting meal in front of him. Garrosh just ignored him then, his eyes dull and distant. With a resigned sigh the servant placed the platter on a nearby table, bowing once and then departing.

Three days, Garrosh had not eaten a thing. Three days since he had practically sent Zaela to her doom. In the dead silence of the night he had wept for her. Had one been able to see the soul, it would have been a crumbling mess.

For two days he had scoured the defeated Red-fist base, where they could. Cho'gall had secured the mountain path, making it impossible to extend their search with many, and none that didn't have stealth. Cozwyn had left a Dragonmaw named Gorcall in charge as she went to look for any survivors on the mountain. Garrosh would have stayed longer had he not had duties in Orgrimmar. It had been torturous for him to stop looking, but his time did not belong to him alone, he had a nation to lead.

Now every time he had tried to eat he found his belly to full of disgust and sorrow to swallow even a morsel of food. Because of his foolishness she was dead and he had sent her to die, literally telling the enemy her battle strategy. With an ingenious monster like Cho'gall leading the Red-fist, Zaela probably hadn't even known what hit her before she was torn to shreds wondering where she had failed.

He regretted the last meeting they had had, screaming at her in a bloody rage pushing his will to be done, and after she stood her ground, calling her weak, one of the highest insults for an orc, and watching the pain dance across her face, as he sneered at her. Had she gone through so much at Crushblow to prove to him she was not a weakling? The thought stabbed at his heart harder than any blade could have. It made him desire to fall off the face of the earth so no one would ever remember there had been a Garrosh Hellscream the murderous fool.

Running a hand across his face, he cursed himself silently; he might as well have driven the blade into her heart personally. So deep in his self loathing he didn't register there was knocking at his chamber door until it was bellowing through the room.

"What." He muttered sullenly sinking lower into his chair. He desired nothing, and didn't wish to be seen, the servants knew that, and yet they pressed him.

"Lady Proudmoore has arrived." The guard announced, his gruff voice muffled by the door, but visibly laced with concern.

Garrosh sighed, making a beckoning gesture. "Let her in."

Garrosh was famous for his hatreds of humans, but when he asked to see the ruler of Theramoore, all who dwelled with-in the hold had assumed Garrosh could have possibly gone mad with grief. Only Garrosh himself knew that wasn't the case but didn't care to tell his people otherwise.

The oaken door creaked open only a fraction as the tall slender figure of Jaina Proudmoore slipped inside. She closed the door gently, before turning to Garrosh. He looked a mess, which was the nicest way to put it; armor left on its stand, axe carelessly tossed aside, curtains and blankets thrown askew in a rage.

Jaina did well, hiding the surprise of it all and walked slowly to a chair opposite of the dull eyed, sullen faced Garrosh. She sat slowly taking a bit more time to gauge what was wrong with the usually energetic, and brash Hellscream. If she hadn't known better she'd say he had been…weeping.

His brown eyes searched Jaina's blue as if he was seeking answers in their azure orbs, but what possible answers to what puzzling questions evaded her. She still didn't know why he had sent a messenger to her out of the blue, but knew his current attitude had to have something to do with it.

Neither said anything for long minutes until Jaina took it upon herself to speak. "So, Warchief Hellscream, why have you asked to see me?" She asked curious.

Garrosh turned his head away from her, licking his dry lips before he spoke. He needed a moment, not wanting his voice to betray him. "How do you cope?" He asked gruffly.

Jaina's brows knitted together in confusion, the sorceress, placed both hands in her lap, leaning forward slightly. He wasn't asking war questions, he was asking personal ones, making the meeting supremely more interesting for the arch mage. "With what?"

"With the sorrow." He explained his voice dry and husky. "With the pain knowing you and Thrall can never be together how you would both wish to be. Knowing you love him with all your heart but he'll be forever out of your reach till the end of your days. How do you cope with that, Jaina Proudmoore?"

The room fell into a mournful silence once more, the only sound of Garrosh's heavy breathing resounding in the chamber. He looked upon the sorceress; her head now bowed, to Garrosh it seemed either in prayer or thought, perhaps both. Would she try to deny it still? Or was offended by his straight forward question, probably picking at an already open wound?

"I take it day by day, Hellscream." She finally replied, her voice ragged.

It suddenly occurred to Garrosh she had been trying to place her emotions back in check before her response, much like he had done. How she must feel her pain, masked by a smile and a strong will.

"But how?" He asked desperately leaning forward in his chair. He wanted to know the ends and outs of dealing with the disparity that was at the brink of overwhelming all his sensibilities. "How do you do it when it feels like you're walking around with a gaping hole in your chest that's never going to close?"

Jaina brushed a tendril of loose hair behind her ear, pondering over the question. She didn't know why he was asking this, but she felt in her heart there was more here than he was saying, much more. If he wanted to know how she coped then was he trying to learn himself? Who could have brought the arrogant Garrosh so low, to ask for help from his most hated foe?

When she finally trusted herself to speak and look at him with out breaking down, she found his brown eyes misty. Jaina had never liked Garrosh Hellscream, he was to blood thirsty and head strong, even for an orc, but at that moment she read his heart and found a kindred spirit in her sorrow.

"I comfort myself with the knowledge that while the body ages, the sword rusts, even Azeroth it self falls to ruin, the soul lives on, Garrosh. Thrall and I may not be together, here, in this life at this time, but we are soul mates. I live my life every day with that gaping hole in my chest, but I know one day when loyalties, and hatreds matter not I shall meet him at the warrior's hall and we shall finally be together for eternity." She smiled through tears, but didn't seem to know she was crying. "I can wait a few more decades for that."

Instinctively Jaina knew that was the end of the conversation. Rising quietly, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder for only a few seconds before taking leave of the chamber. Garrosh did not even acknowledge her leaving, his eyes distant and vacant. He heard the door to the room click shut just as the tears came. The feel of her hand still lingered on his shoulder, and it reminded him of Zaela's. Hot, large tear drops brimmed his brown eyes at the thought; blurring his vision before coursing down his cheeks. Jaina could cope because she wouldn't always be alone in this life, even for a few hours it was rumored the two leaders had found solace together. And besides, she hadn't killed Thrall, she hadn't sent him to his death. They both knew that they loved one another but Garrosh hadn't even told Zaela that he…

With a cry of disparity he upturned the table that held his carefully cooked meal, sending roast boar, bread and pitchers of beer into the air. He couldn't cope, it wasn't just despair talking, inwardly he knew, he would never be able to simply cope with what he had done. In fact, a part of him knew he didn't want to cope, he didn't deserve such mercy. All he wanted was oblivion, to be wiped off the face of Azeroth, so that perhaps he would meet Zaela in the great dark beyond and beg for her forgiveness for his down-right foolishness. People he had been far closer to had perished in worse situation than this, but he had felt nothing like this for them. Never had any made him feel the way Zaela made him feel, and never, he was positive, would he feel that way again. And now she was gone, because of him.

Garrosh felt a hard lump rise in his throat, a feeling he was used to for the past three days. A guttural cry of anguish escaped his lips, as always he tried fighting it back, but failed. Sinking into his chair, he sat there wallowing in grief. He couldn't stay like this forever, he knew, barely coming out of his room, eating nothing, talking to no one. But what else could he do when life truly seemed not to matter anymore? Zaela wouldn't want to see him like this, he knew, she had relied on him in her time of mourning. He wondered briefly somewhere, was she looking down on him trying to comfort him. The thought was a soothing one, as he imagined that gruff no nonsense voice scolding him sharply about sitting around and crying. Zaela wouldn't want mourning, Zaela would want vengeance for the cowards that had slain her.

He tilted his head up to the ceiling, talking through tears. "If you can hear me Zaela, I swear to you I will do all I can to help your people bring the Twilight Hammer down, then your soul may be properly free to dwell at the warrior's hall."

Although he would never admit it, Jaina's words had given him strength. The promise of the soul going on beyond this life, it made him feel Zaela was not gone forever, only until he could meet with her and finally reveal his feelings.

After three days, feeling much refreshed, with the aid of Jaina's words, and his solemn promise, Garrosh strode out of the private quarter of Grommash hold. The servants and guards smiled as he snapped at them in his usual feral way. What ever the human sorceress had done, it had worked wonders. Yet, all noticed it seemed there was a part of him missing, it seemed more forced now, than when his threats had come so easily. It was like half of him was missing, but half of Garrosh was still more than many could handle. Although no one dare inform their renewed Warchief, but the three days he'd been in his depression was the usual orcish mourning custom for when one lost a mate.


	13. Revenge!

The black clouds, encircling the Bastion of Twilight, enshrouded the top of the mountain in near constant darkness. Irregularly, bright arches of lightening would flash out like a whip across the sky revealing the extent of evil that carried on below but for a few seconds before masking the unholy place once more. It was just one such illuminating streak of light that made the priestess, Cozwyn, wince as she walked the mountain ridges. For a few moments she had been completely detectable, had any patrolling Twilight cultist been nearby it would have spelled the end for her. The forsaken clambered around the very outskirts of the bastion of twilight, she clung to the edge of the mountain like a shadow, nearly invisible in the Twilight shades.

While disguised as a cultist, the priest had cleverly mind controlled a surviving ogre to take her atop the mountain. After she had scaled the path, she had readily ditched her outfit, knowing if she ran into a patrol the ruse would have been up anyway, it was to dangerous to try to wing her way through a talk, one slip of the tongue and she would be dead. Upon arriving at her destination, she had then made her ogre 'accomplice' leap from the cliff side. Who said Forsaken didn't have a sense of humor? She chuckled briefly at the thought before, walking to the predetermined sight to meet Garona and hopefully Zaela. Now she only hoped they had survived. Garona had shared her fears with the forsaken about traitors and the pair had concocted this insurance plan as it were.

The meeting site was ridiculously close to the Bastions base. In fact a tent had been once erected there that had housed Twilights Hammer but had fallen in disarray. It was a clever hiding spot for no cultist thought the enemy as stupid as to make a hide out so close. As she neared, it truly looked uninhabitable tent canvas torn and sagging, iron framework rusting away in a dark purple tint. Cozwyn walked through the mess cautiously, a bony hand rapping of a piece of wood. "Knock knock, Garona, Zaela?"

"About time you showed up." Garona chided humorlessly.

Cozwyn turned around to see both orcess' reveal their hiding places in the disarray. Zaela was looking a little worse for wear, dark circles under her eyes and a little brusied up, but she looked restless. Having been cooped up in the broken down tent for the three days, missing in action as it were, Cozwyn could only surmise that inaction had been gnawing away at the blood craving warrior.

The priest sighed taking a seat on a broken crate. "Sorry but the mountain is crawling with cultist, they have drawn a definite barrier at the bottom of the path."

"That means the Red-Fist base was destroyed?" Zaela asked hopefully, if it was a bit of her honor could be regained.

Cozwyn smiled, nodding. "Indeed, the ogres were slaughtered."

Well at least that was some good news that gave Zaela new hope in defeating Skullcrusher. Now the Horde was strategically placed so that Cho'gall's forces were effectively stuck atop the mountain.

"And what of Garrosh, does he know of the situation? How is he handling things down there?" Zaela asked eager for news of him.

She missed him greatly, although knowing there was a great chance she would never see him again. To die in battle was the highest honor for an orc, but the knowledge of perhaps never to look upon the man, that made her heart beat like war drums, again defiantly took some of the glory away.

Cozwyn barked out a mirthless laugh. "He's a mess; Bor'lock gathered the information by tricking Garrosh. He now thinks he unwittingly led you to your death. Before I left he barely did anything but scoured the Red-Fist base and huddle miserably in a command tent when he was too exhausted to go on. I suspect he's doing the same back in Orgrimmar. I have seen the Warchief in many states, angry, angrier, furious, and so on, but this was new. It was a state of mourning. Zaela, he was mourning for you."

Zaela's cheeks felt hot enough to start a fire; she tilted her head down to hide the blush while scolding herself. He wasn't mourning for her, it had to have been all the Kor'kron assassin he'd lost, perhaps he had good friends in their ranks. Cozwyn seemed to read her thoughts and placed a hand on Zaela's shoulder. "He loves you, Zaela, he truly does."

Did he? Zaela had always pushed the question away, knowing the answer, if he did not, would hurt her to her core. Nothing on Azeroth made sense for him to love her. She did not have power, or strength on par with his, nor so much battle prowess as he.

"It would make little since if he did." Zaela sighed.

"It would that." Garona piped up. "There should be no reason why he loves you, but he does, flaws and all. So are you going to show him how strong you are, or are you going to keep shielding yourself away."

Throwing her hands up, Zaela growled at the two of them. "This is foolish, we shouldn't be discussing passing fancies, we should be talking about our battle strategy."

They had touched down on a delicate subject; one Zaela tried avoiding with all her might. Better to be starting down a mountain full of cultist than speaking of 'what ifs' and 'he might's'. She could cleave a body with her axe, not so with feelings and thoughts. Both Cozwyn and Garona understood this, flashing one another annoyed glares, they tactfully dropped the subject.

Although she would firmly deny it, Zaela seemed renewed upon hearing Cozwyn's words about Garrosh. The old gleam in her eyes was back, a look that promised death and destruction in its wake.

"And what do you suppose we do?" Cozwyn asked, reading the Warchief's face like a book as she spoke. It would only be a Zaela original.

The warrior orcess smiled slyly rubbing her hands in delight of the coming carnage. "What we do best, Cozwyn. We plan, position, wait, and then show them why you do not mess with the Horde."

~8~8~

Twilight fire blazed intensely atop the highest ridge of the Twilight bastion. Its flames usually a sickish purple were almost black in color, due to how much fire was being cast by Cho'gall. The monstrous ogre was deep in concentration funneling the conjured fire to a series of items lying on a huge black altar. Broken shards lay around the precious Demon chain, all of them glowing with the unholy Twilight fire. The three eyes on Cho'gall's faces were closed in deep concentration, sweat, more due to the intensity of the spell than the heat itself, ran down his body making the eyes on his bulk seem akin to crying. Far to the edge of the ridge, Skullcrusher sat; entranced by the flames, in his hands were a pair of huge tongs and the hammer of twilight.

Cho'gall's feet began to give way as he finished the very draining spell, taking in huge gulps of air he beckoned to the towering Gron. "Now, Skullcrusher, while the flames are at their most powerful!"

The Gron quickly went to work hammering and molding the brilliantly glowing shards. Being so magically endowed, it didn't take the pieces very long to meld with the Demon Chain, there power once more renewed. As the crafting was complete, Skullcrusher, heaved the still piping hot item into a huge vat of water conjured by the most powerful water elementals in their possession. Steam billowed upwards to the massive black cloud, disappearing in tiny wisps as it was taken by the wind.

By the time it had cooled, no water was left in the vat. The hulking Gron touched a finger to it and found easy to handle as a surge of power went through him. Reverently the Gron knelt before Cho'gall his hands presenting him with the Demons Soul, reforged anew. "Master, it is complete."

Having regained a little strength, Cho'gall smiled triumphantly snatching the trinket away. "At long last. (Mine all mine!) And now even the Dragon flights will carry out the Masters will. (Go forth and burn!) How appropriate when the Life-binder serves the aspect of death. (She serves which she hates.) Once we find her, this world is truly doomed. (No hope, no hope at all!)."

The simple beauty of the reforge trinket slightly took Cho'gall aback. A plain, smooth ruby like gem rested in the center of what appeared to be a small setting of gold. The thought briefly entered his head that perhaps Deathwing himself could be entranced by the gem. If it had worked on the Life-Binder, then perhaps… His train of thought ground to a halt. He knew Garona was there the moment right before she struck. Out of nowhere, the rogue orcess came flying through the air, both hands wrapped around the Soul as she jerked it away from the shocked Cho'gall.

She landed on the stone at his feet deftly, laughing uproariously as she taunted him by shaking the Soul in front of her. "Glad to see me again, ugly?" She winked at him mockingly. "Oh what am I saying, just me, _us,_ I mean."

Us? The word made Cho'gall pause, as he had been about to bring his fist down on the orcess. More had gotten up to the ridge? If so in his weakened state he couldn't take chances of actually being defeated, Demon Soul or not. He snarled. "I'll not waste my time with you Garona. Skullcrusher finish her and any other idiots who decided to join her on this suicide."

With that he was gone leaving a charging Skullcrusher barreling towards Garona. The rogue nimbly leapt to the side revealing Zaela, her keen axe brandished murderously. Before he could halt himself, the painful bite of Zaela's weapon went through his shin, digging right to the bone. He roared in agony trying to swat the warrior woman away but in such cramped space a small ridge atop a mountain, his size was not to his advantage. With a mighty heave Zaela tore her axe out, bringing with it a gush of blood that drenched her. She rolled out the way as the Gron's fists came down hoping to smash her, and yet only succeeded in damaging the rock.

"You gotta be faster than that, ugly." Garona mocked him from behind, her daggers digging into a shoulder.

Both hands frantically began clawing at his back, trying to remove Garona who hung like a limpet. All his swatting however over shot the rogue who cruelly began twisting her daggers into the flesh. Having no choice, Skullcrusher fell to his back hoping to either crush Garona or that she would move. The latter happened and she painfully yanked her daggers out of him leaping away before he fell to his back causing massive cracks to be etched into the stone. As he was down, he caught sight of a Forsaken, right before his vision was blurred in pain by a mind flay, his head wracking with pain. He thrashed out in agony destroying the altar and the obelisks that surrounded it.

Even in all the pain in his body the Gron was far from defeated. Half blinded, he leapt up, an arm doing a large sweep of the ridge. It caught Cozwyn by surprise and she went tumbling into a heap, making the mind flay leave the Gron in the process. Now thoroughly enraged, Skullcrusher bashed and smashed the rock where ever Garona and Zaela appeared to be, they were to fast however always ducking and dodging.

Zaela ducked behind a crumbling obelisk attempting to catch her breath, Garona was doing a few feet away, and the warrior whispered to her. "This thing seems to have endless strength!"

"We're close, Zaela, just dodge a little more." The rogue replied hurriedly.

Zaela did not like all this running; she wanted to face her opponent one on one. Still, she forced herself to stick to the plan. Before Zaela could speak another word, Skullcrushers hand swiped away the remaining obelisk. Just as they were about to move again the massive Gron stomped his foot. The wave knocked both orcess' off their feet and before they could rise, Skullcrusher was upon them, towering above the pair. Even in the state of pain they had inflicted on him, Skullcrusher still looked well and able to take down an army.

"You no can bring down Skullcrusher the mountain." He laughed, wiping a line of drool and blood from his gaping maw.

"You're right we can't bring down Skullcrusher," Zaela smiled as cracks began to form rapidly all about the ridge. "Skullcrusher brings down Skullcrusher."

A loud cracking was heard as Skullcrusher looked at Zaela, in confusion of her words. It was only a brief look that quickly turned to terror. At his feet, the stone, which he had carelessly battered away at with all his strength, could no longer hold his weight and was giving way. He gave a terrible shriek as the whole ridge came tumbling down.

"Now, Cozwyn!" Zaela cried just as the whole ridge crumbled.

The priest's act of playing dead ended, and she cast a levitating spell on the trio.

From down below, the surviving soldiers saw the crash and shouted for any one who was close to get away. The Gron looked akin to a falling meteor hurling down from the black heavens, his arms stretched out looking for anything to grab on to. When he finally crashed, the earth around the Red Fist base trembled causing many to brace themselves. Dust and debris billowed up from the Gron's landing, obscuring the sky.

The three women came down like angels from heaven much to the awe of the Dragonmaw. Zaela landed first, falling to her knees, shakily. Free falling and then levitating was not a welcome experience Zaela wished to feel again, her stomach was in her throat and her legs felt like jelly. As she looked up, her people stared at her astounded, was this figure in front of them real? Zaela stood shakily, griping her axe with white knuckles for strength.

Garona and Cozwyn landed only moments later, but none say a word, all watching Zaela. The Dragonmaw Warchief walked to the Gron's body warily. It had been a long drop, but who knew how resilient these creature were. As she neared, she was astounded, but not surprised, the body was still twitching, his eyes rolling about in confusion and agony, but having no way to relive the pain. In order to look the creature dead in the eye, Zaela walked atop the Gron's very slightly, moving chest. There was a faint crunch as she stepped on him, and the Gron mewled in pain.

When she was right by his chin, Zaela knelt, her axe resting in between his eyes as she spoke. "You came to my port, killed my people, and sought to destroy everything we have worked so hard for. Now you die."

Zaela roared out her battle cry and with one mighty chop loped the Gron's head right off the body.

Skullcrusher's body gave one last heave, his broken back jerking sporadically, sending another cloud of dust into the air. With that he lay still, blood gushing out of his beheaded bulk to pool in the crater his fall caused.

All was silent for about 5 seconds, before the ground began to shake with cheering.

The Dragonmaw had achieved their revenge.


	14. Homecoming

"Warchief?" A guard piped up tentatively entering the war room of Grommash hold.

Garrosh stood hunched over a detailed map of Ashenvale, wooden figurines of red and blue make were scattered about telling of Horde and Alliance positions.

"What?" He growled off handedly positioning the Horde figurines into an expert battle position.

Work had been a god's send to the broken hearted Warchief, who turned to work with a new found vigor that ran his subjects ragged going about to do his will. It took his mind off Zaela, and with that most of the despair that still secretly plagued him. But not all of it, never would he be completely free.

"Its…it's…" The Kor'kron stuttered having heard the rumors about what happened to guards when one disturbed the highly irritable Warchief.

"WHAT!" Garrosh yelled slamming a fist onto the large table, sending little figurines toppling in every which way.

"It's the Dragonmaw." The guard finally managed to blurt out through his terror.

Before the unfortunate orc could blink, Garrosh was standing eye to eye with him, his breath seemingly hot enough to melt his armor. "What about them? Speak you bumbling idiot!"

"Skullcrusher the Mountain is vanquished and Warchief Zaela is alive! They say she slew him with her axe after he fell from the Bastion of Twilight." He cried out covering his head as he prepared for the worst.

A heavy hand landed on the guards shoulder and he tensed just knowing Garrosh would smash him against a wall in fury. He had never been more surprised when the Warchief wrapped him a gargantuan bear hug laughing all the while.

Alive! She was alive! Never in his life had Garrosh felt so happy, in fact he thought he might die from a heart that was near bursting with joy. Oh life was indeed worth living again! Any sorrow he had tucked in his heart vanished at that one moment. The guard uttered a pitiful squeak, proclaiming his ribs were being crushed by the hug.

"Oh, sorry." Garrosh apologized sheepishly before releasing the guard and gaining controll of himself again. Straitening himself, Garrosh adopted his usual snarling demeanor, as he snapped out orders. "Have a portal prepared for Dragonmaw port at once." The order came out rough but Garrosh could not contain a smile totally taking away any threat in his voice.

"At once, Warchief." The guard replied warily, befuddled by the Warchief's sudden change in attitude. He didn't question the command however and left quickly leaving an exuberant Garrosh wanting to cry out in joy to the heavens.

Scolding himself only midly, Garrosh went back to the Ashenvale map, but this time for far different reasons, ones far more personal with a heart as light as air.

~8~8~

Dragonmaw port had never looked so grand as Zaela walked through the rebuilt gates. Every Dragonmaw, man, woman, child, injured, and ill had come out to give the returning warriors a victor's welcome. The streets and houses were lined with banners of the Dragonmaw and the Horde. Every door was open showing that all people had chipped in to produce at least one dish for the coming victory feast.

In the center of town lay a huge metal spike topped with three prongs with ropes attached. It had been the first thing Zaela had ordered built with the salvageable metal of the destroyed port. The crowd followed Zaela to the spike, each cheering wildly at what was about to happen next. The Gron's head had been dragged behind three war wolves of fallen soldiers. To Zaela it appeared the wolves knew they had been given an honor for their fallen masters, and hadn't even tried to nibble at the head as they had dragged it through the highlands. The Gron eye sockets were snow white lolling about aimlessly in its skull his tongue hanging out and dragging on the ground. Its teeth had been yanked out or bashed in to produce war trophies for the surviving soldiers and they displayed them proudly as necklaces. Maggots wormed their way in every open orifice feasting upon the rotting flesh. As it was dragged up the street people spat at the head, uttering black curses as it passed.

There were helping hands aplenty to skewer the gargantuan head on the spike. It fit with a sickening squelching noise of the steel being thrust through brain matter disturbing hungrily eating maggots. Zaela was the first to snatch a cord attached to the spike. Others quickly joined in, even children grabbing the end of the adults ropes. With a unified heave the spike shot up to the cloudless sky producing the gruesome banner of victory that towered over the port.

Staring up at the bulbous head, Zaela could only help but smile remembering Garrosh's words. She had been strong and determined leading her people to victory. The tragedy would never be fully healed from her, but she would always combat that disparaging feeling with this moment. In the milling crowd someone began to play a tune on a pipe, another chimed in with a hand drum and a woman started singing an old orcish battle tune. Very soon the whole expanse of clansmen began whooping and hollering in joy. They had redeemed their fallen by going to war and coming back victors, truly a day for celebration.

Zaela watched her people, for a time, a quiet smile playing upon her lips. They were dancing and laughing with soldiers rejoining their families retelling their adventures. Fathers scooped up awaiting children, while women hugged their mates who had remained at port as they had gone to war. A whistful thought caught in Zaela's head as she imagined her and Garrosh side by side after battle, coated in blood but celebrating victory.

A weathered orc made his way to the front where Zaela watched her people. The Warchief smiled, dismissing the fanciful thought, wrapping the master of arms in a hug. "Gorcall, you old dwarf killer, what news do you bring me?"

"Garrosh is waiting for you in the clan hall." The drake rider informed her with a weak smile.

She nodded, and the master of arms left to rejoin the festivities and feasting, or drinking and dancing. As he left, Zaela flashed a worried gaze to Cozwyn who stood quite a distance from her. Either the priest had overheard from a few Dragonmaw that Garrosh was here or knew instinctively the worried look on Zaela's features. The undead seemed to read Zaela thoughts and nudged her head to the clan door. Zaela replied by shaking her head ferociously. No, she wasn't going in there alone, she would become a pathetic excuse for a Warchief again in his presence and then it wouldn't matter what she had accomplished. Cozwyn gave her a no nonsense glare, nudging her head stiffer to the clan door. Cozwyn was right of course, she couldn't avoid Garrosh because of how he made Zaela feel but thinking about his eyes searching her to probe every weakness she had was not something she desired to deal with at the moment. She shook her head again, and this time she clearly saw Cozwyn mouth the word _'coward'_. That did it, Zaela began to stomp angrily over to the Forsaken and give her a piece of her mind, what right did she have to claim her a coward because she did not desire to stand in front of one so illustrious compared to herself. It suddenly occurred to Zaela she was being cowardly and she stopped. Flashing a dirty look to Cozwyn, because she knew the Forsaken correct, the warrior orcess turned around to stomp into the clan hall.

Her breath felt shaky as she stepped through the huge double doors, her heart beating as it did when she had been free falling from the Twilight ridge. Swallowing a huge lump in her throat, she made the last turn into the main room of the clan hall, and there he was, towering and intimidating as usual. Such the perfect balance of controlled tactical warrior and a blood thirsty berserker. His eyes seemed only half open, shadowing any expression she could read in them, but Zaela could tell he was watching every move she made. Did he still think her weak, despite her achievement? Was he still angry from being told no by some one far less influential than he? If so, Zaela promised herself, she would try and rectify that right now.

Before he could even utter a syllable, she dove in ready for an argument. "I led my warriors to victory over the Red-fist." Zaela stated proudly jutting her chin up.

"Zaela." Garrosh began to speak but stopped as she continued as if she hadn't even heard him.

"The Demon Chain was taken from me, but I obtained it again, a better weapon than when it left me." She held up the newly forged Demon Soul hanging around her wrist.

"Zaela." He began again but was halted the same.

To far gone to stop, she stepped close to the huge Garrosh, poking a finger to her chest, near screaming. "It was my plan that brought down Skullcrusher, Garrosh, not yours, not anybody else's. I am not weak!"

"Zaela you stubborn, hard headed, woman, will you shut up and listen!" He finally roared out, loosing his temper. How, when he was so happey to see her, coud she still piss him off?

"Wha-" She began to scream right back at him but the word was forced back down her throat when he grabbed her by both shoulders and kissed her.

The kiss literally sent tingles down Zaela's spine, his touch brought Goosebumps to her skin as he wrapped an arm around her waist. As he broke off the kiss both of them were breathing raggedly.

All Garrosh could do was stare at her in astonishment, it was true; she was here, alive and well, strong and perfect in his arms just as Garrosh imagined she'd be. Her whole body felt like it melded with his, where as he wasn't sure what was her flesh and what was his. Her head rested on his exposed chest, and Garrosh swore he died for several seconds before his heart began to beat properly again. His voice was tight and hoarse. "Forgive me, I meant nothing I said the last time we met, you were right I am an ignorant brute. I love you Zaela, and I am ashamed I had not the courage to admit it to you or myself when we met."

Had she heard him right? Was she still upon the Twilight mountain and this a figment of her foolish imagination? But it couldn't be, the warmth of his embrace, his heart hammering away like a war drum in his chest. No way on Azeroth was this a dream.

"No, it is I who should be begging for your forgiveness. I shouldn't let my pride get the best of me." She placed a hand on his chest and felt heat rapidly grow under her touch. "I just didn't want to be weak in front of you, thinking you would reject me if I had ever had the strength for this moment. I just wanted to…" Her words trailed off as he brushed a hand across her cheek. By the ancestors, such a simple touch could take away all her senses.

Zaela looked up into Garrosh's warm brown eyes, and found only love and want in his gaze, both of which mirrored her feelings perfectly. He kissed her again, this time far gentler and slower, savoring the moment, instead of the previous which had been full of tension and high emotion. Zaela could still taste him on his lips as she parted away from the kiss. For a moment Garrosh face held fear and confusion. Why was she backing away? Did she not feel the same? Had she decided she didn't want this? The fears and confusion were put away instantly as she took his calloused hands into her own, leading him. To where, it didn't matter, he would have followed to the ends of the Azeroth.

Night fell upon the Twilight Highlands and the celebration was still going in full. It seemed with every hour came a new batch of champions or soldiers eager to hear the tales of the Dragonmaw victors. The music hadn't stopped since the head had been put up, except for only small intermittences for new players to strike up the music once more. It was just such an intermittence that awoke Zaela, she perked her head up listening for trouble, had the Twilight Hammer struck against them in affront to killing Skullcrusher? Perhaps an Alliance attack thinking their forces depleted? As all was silent, she was about to rise, a hand stretching out to find her axe, but relaxed as the music sounded out again calming her immediately.

At ease, but now awake, the Dragonmaw Warchief sank back down to the sleeping furs nestling herself more comfortably in Garrosh's arms. Her movement awoke the sleeping behemoth beside her and he gave a jaw cracking yawn, momentarily confused about where he was. The memories of earlier came surging back,_ all_ of them, and he grinned widely. Wrapping Zaela closer into his arms, he planted a gentle kiss on the back of her neck. It was amazing how she fit beside him the curve of her body was perfect against his own, comforting in every way imaginable.

"I half feared when I awoke this would have all been a dream." He revealed to her earning him a quiet chuckle form the Dragonmaw Warchief.

For the hours they had been together, he had poured his heart out to her, admitting his foolishness with Bor'lock and how he had wept for her. He didn't feel ashamed to admit it to her, and actually found it a relief to divulge the secrets of his soul to the woman that had so captivated him.

"You weren't the only one, beloved_._" She replied and Garrosh could tell, in the blackness, she was smiling.

Both remained silent enjoying the simple sound of the others breathing, his more heavy, bellowing almost, while hers was more even and controlled. Both were thinking the same, what happened next? They had finally admitted their love for one another, relived their longing for the other in hours of getting lost in their arms, but what would happen when they had to leave the quarters of the Dragonmaw clan hall? Zaela had the answer immediately as the thought came.

Turning to face him, Zaela pressed a hand onto his chest, her eyes boring strait into his own. "You will be my mate." She stated suddenly.

It wasn't a request but nor was it a demand, it was if she stated a fact. Garrosh smiled tangling a hand into the now loose locks of her hair. "And you will be mine."

Her eyes were sparkling; they were really sparkling, as he had accepted her request for a mate. Garrosh had never seen her look lovelier, and it caused his blood to hum. Zaela kissed him gently one last time, before settling herself in the crook of his arm. And there they fell asleep more happy and content than they had ever been.

~8~8~

_A-N: So, now all that's left is the wedding ceremony and this story will be done!_


	15. What A Long Strange Trip Its Been

The wedding would be a simple affair held in Nagrand, Garrosh's home. As with many orcish customs the male's home of origin was used for where the vows would take place. The ceremony was to be held along one of the many streams in Nagrand that led to a waterfall in the huge basin. To Zaela's amusement, Garrosh had revealed to her, he personally picked out the picturesque place when he had been very young and had sworn to himself that's where he was going to be wed. Who knew the Warchief of the Horde had ever dreamt about getting mated?

The day was as perfect as one would expect for such an unbelievable ceremony to be taking place. The azure sky was only dotted by small, puffy, ivory clouds drifting aimlessly here and there. It was warm and the heat tolerable, unlike most days in Nagrand were it felt akin to walking around in one gigantic oven. A bit of wind had picked up the night before the ceremony, and was now gently blowing as a light breeze to tousle the hair of the many persons who had come to witness the event.

It appeared, in fact, half the Horde of all races had made the journey to Outland to see the impossible. The inn in Garadar was overflowing with patrons, some even having to make the trek to Nagrand in the early hours of dawn from Shattrath where they had found shelter. Those who had readily decided to go fend for themselves in the wilds of Nagrand, instead of paying for an inn, did so at their own peril. To Fel with risking life and limb, no body wanted to miss this occasion.

Jaina Proudmoore, along with her small entourage were the only non Horde gathered at the event. Since Theramoore had a peace treaty with the Horde it was things like this the sorceress attended to show the relationship with the Horde was still as strong as ever. A few champions grumbled, along with the venomous, wary glances from the Dragonmaw, but most had accepted her presence in their numbers.

Dragonmaw drakes, along with many of Azeroth's champions own personal flying mounts, sat upon a large floating mass of land above the scene. The hides and scales of the many beasts glittered in the sun creating a myriad colors that shone from the large island. They rested contentedly out of the way, but also keeping an eye out for trouble. With so many mounts, both land and air, one had to expect a large gathering of people.

All Horde leaders were to stand at the very front when the ceremony began. Another orcish custom, of leaders approving another's mating so that there would not be strife against the decision. Most would have sent representatives in their stead's had one not have to see the moment to believe it. Garrosh getting married? Even standing there, with the ceremony hours away, every so often someone in the large crowd would burst into laughter at the thought.

Outside in the noon day sun, everything might have been fine, but inside a tiny room in Garadar, Garrosh paced nervously. Even in his first battle he'd never felt so on edge. Sweat pricked at his bare skin that was devoid of all armor, but his axe clung to his back, the usual comforting weapon doing nothing to soothe him today. Did he really want to do this? Telling some one you loved them was one thing, but marriage was quite another. Orcs, unlike humans, mated for life, if a spouse died, they did not remarry, but carried the deceased linage with them. Was he ready for such an act? Could he put Zaela through a life of loneliness if by some means the enemies killed him? Could he cope if she was slain?

"Garrosh congratula-" Thrall exclaimed as he walked into the clan hall.

He stopped however as Garrosh yelled out in surprised, throwing his axe with all the tension his body felt, nearly piercing the far seer to the door. It was only thanks to Thralls former gladiator training he had dodged the axe.

The far seer looked to the quivering weapon, still set deep into the door and then to Garrosh. "Nervous?" He asked with much amusement in his voice.

Garrosh ignored the question yanking the axe out the wood; he placed it back behind him offering a low apology to Thrall. "I'm glad you could make it to perform the ceremony."

Thrall chuckled as he took a seat on one of the sitting furs, he smiled wryly at Garrosh. "It took a little juggling around but four shamans have taken my place for a few hours so I could conduct your marriage. I was told, the Horde suddenly felt accommodating to loan another one of its infamous air ships to the Earthen Ring in case they needed it, and this time under strict orders no Horde Alliance warfare."

"I want no other far seer, than my father's best friend to perform my mating ceremony." Garrosh replied firmly, rubbing the back of his sweaty neck. "I also need some advice."

Thrall only replied to that with a hearty laugh holding his sides until tears ran down his face. Garrosh flashed him an annoyed glare but turned away from him.

"You want to know if this is the right decision." Thrall surmised after his chuckles had died down.

Garrosh nodded and set up pacing again, eager to do anything to work the edge off his nerves.

"You're not special Garrosh, every man about to be mated thinks the same. They see their lives changing forever, and perhaps not for the better. I have a simple solution to this problem. Ask yourself this, do you love her?"

"Yes." Garrosh muttered running a hand over his head. He loved Zaela with all his heart and soul, but still, thoughts about what the future might hold plagued him.

"Enough to marry her?" Thrall asked quietly.

"Yes." Garrosh replied, nodding with out hesitation. "Yet I keep thinking, marrying her is essentially signing her death warrant. The mate of Garrosh Hellscream would have a huge target on her head." He sighed shaking his head. "I had that happen once, thinking her taken away from me. Thrall, it still pains me to think about my foolishness." Garrosh was certain he would never forget that cold numbness grasped around his chest, how it froze the very marrow of his bones. Even now he shivered at the thought.

Was that regret on Garrosh's face? Thrall wondered, highly surprised. After that little stint of battle in the Violet hold, battling the king of Stormwind, Garrosh hadn't shown regret about anything he had done. If he was wrong, he took his failures in stride, and if he was right he wouldn't let people forget it.

After long minutes of silence, Thrall finally spoke. "You truly do love her. I doubt, even with all your misgivings now, wild Kodo's couldn't keep you from marrying her."

The Far Seer could only smile as Garrosh's bare shoulders visibly slumped in relief, confirming what he had already thought. All it took was a good friend to lean on, when your head was in jumbles, to set you back on track.

Thrall laughed once again, seeing Garrosh more at ease, and gave him friendly pat on the back. "Better? Good." He pulled a steel flask out of his tunic, a rare mischievous grin creasing the Far Seer's face. "And here, Saurfang sent this to me by messenger; he said it was to get that fool Garrosh's nerves under control so that he wouldn't make an ass out of himself."

The Warchief felt an involuntary smile come to his face, as he grabbed the small flask and laid it on the table. "Unlike that old timer, Saurfang, I don't need aid to get me through those 'important' moments."

Turning away, Thrall picked up his satchel of supplies, chuckling quietly at the thought as he did so. "Now, if you excuse me, I'll take my leave, I need to prepare my things for the ceremony. See you in a bit."

"Thrall…" Garrosh said suddenly, making the far seer turn to him. "I invited Lady Proudmoore to my wedding. Every one here thinks you're leaving back to the maelstrom after the ceremony, but I know you have a few hours away, and so does she…"

He left the last bit unspoken, but there was no need to utter the implications aloud. As much as both of them had helped him along this rocky road concerning Zaela it was the least he could do to give them a few precious hours alone.

Thrall flashed him a grateful smile, for only a second as he continued to walk through the door.

~8~8~

"Really Zaela, you must calm down." Cozwyn repeated for the fifth time in her usual serene monotone.

Zaela turned to her sharply, eyes slit in a threatening glare, but behind the anger there was visible wariness. "Calm down? By the ancestors, I am about to be mated with the Warchief of Warchief's and you're telling me to calm down!" The Dragonmaw Warchief threw her hands up helplessly as the priest simply answered with a nod. "Cozwyn, months ago, I was a simple grunt, grumbling about the foul Fel orc treatment to my people, and taking orders from that wind-bag Gorcall…"

Zaela stopped short, turning to the full length mirror in the small room. The robe she wore was simple, with little markings to show her accomplishments. In all truth, Zaela simply felt unworthy. Those stares the Nagrand orcs had given her when she arrived were less than welcome. _"This was it? She looked like an ordinary warrior." _Zaela could almost hear them say in their heads, their eyes piercing her with speculation and rumor. While she would not normally care, these were Garrosh's people, about to be her own people as well. The last thing they both needed were the Garadar grumbling about his new mate, and how Azeroth had changed their Garrosh.

"And now you're about to become the second major leader of the Horde." A frail, nearly hoarse voice concluded with a soft croak.

In the mirror, Zaela could see the aged Great mother, with the help of Cozwyn and an assistant, shuffle into the room. "Great mother." Zaela greeted solemnly as she bowed with the entire respect one as old as the orc before her deserved.

The orcess was indeed the oldest Zaela had ever seen. Her brown skin was leathered and weathered with age, crow's feet lacing her eyes, and huge laugh lines around her face. A shaky yet strong hand lay gently on Zaela's shoulder as the great mother spoke. "Look me in the eyes, Warchief Zaela, let me see into you."

Warily, almost fearfully, Zaela did as the great mother requested, wondering what she would find. The elder orcs eyes searched her own for long minutes revealing every dark corner of her heart. There was a moment where nothing happened before the Great Mother burst into hearty laughter. "I have lived long years, and yet even I truly thought I wouldn't live to see this day. Garrosh has found his love, and marrying her. Who knew, at 113 I could still be surprised." The laughter died down and the elder orcess patted Zaela gently. "Do not be so worried, young one, if you love him and he loves you, that is all that matters. You both have my blessing."

Warmth touched Zaela's heart such as she had never known. Approval from the most respected Nagrand elder, and with a blessing no less! It made her steady and feel excepted among Garrosh's people. If the Great Mother approved them, then by and by so would the rest of the Garadar orcs, soothing Zaela's fears. With that the elder orcess departed leaving Zaela and Cozwyn once again alone.

"Now will you not worry so much?" Cozwyn asked in feigned agitation.

Zaela's laughed as she nodded. "I suppose so. I think my nerves just got the best of me, ever since we got here I've been throwing up my break fast every morning."

Cozwyn smiled. "Good, I'm glad the great mother could be of some com-" Zaela's last words hit the forsaken priest like a brick. She arched a rotting brow quizzically her eyes searching the orcess intensely. "Zaela, have you been intimate with Garrosh yet?"

~8~8~

It was late in the after noon before the wedding drums began their slow rhythmic beat. First like a small pounding of the heart, but steadily growing louder until in boomed across the land proclaiming a special occasion was about to take place. The huge crowd went oddly quite, as everyone took their respective positions as the ceremony started.

Garrosh appeared from one a side of the tall grass dressed in nothing but an earthy brown kilt. His upper body was richly decorated in vibrant red war paint patterns, symbolizing his status and deeds in life. The paint swirled around his eyes and on his neck while traveling down his torso, arm, and so on, with out stopping even as it reached his kilt which took up the illuminate dye as well. Zaela came from the opposite side of the large expanse of land, looking much the same, in a sea blue robe, dyed also with red war paint to exclaim her status and deeds. There were less patterns on her garb and body but if that bothered her it didn't show.

They met at an earthen altar with Thrall standing behind it. The Far seer held out both his hands open palmed and the pair placed one of their hands in Thrall's own. Grasping both their hands, the Far Seer placed them together so that they were over the direct middle of the altar. "Spirits of earth, air, water, and fire, watch over the ceremony of Warchief Zaela of the Dragonmaw and Warchief Garrosh of the Horde. May the ancestors be witness to this mating and approve of long life, strong children, and many victorious battles."

The pair was now holding one anothers hand so that Thrall could let go and reverently take a step back.

All kidding aside, many noted, Garrosh did appear…happy. No, happy didn't do him justice. He had a wide grin on his face, and there was an aura about him, one, those who had found their own loves, understood perfectly.

The far seer made a motion with a slight nod of his head and a guard brought forth a silver chalice studded with Dranythyst and Azure diamonds from Outland. Inside, the cup had been filled with fresh water from Hallani basin, both cold and amazingly clear. Garrosh took a freshly made dagger, from the altar with his free hand, one that from hence forth all his heirs would use for this same occasion should they be wed.

Orcs did not give rings to show their marriage, all knew if one was mated by the long scar going across one of their palms. With one smooth motion, not even flinching in pain, he slit his palm from side to side letting the blood freely spill into the chalice below him. Solemnly, he uttered the ancient orcish mating oath. "My blood is your blood. If you fall, I fall."

Reverently he handed the blade to Zaela, who cut herself the same, and poured her blood also into the chalice. "My blood is your blood. If you fall, I fall."

The Far Seer lifted the chalice to the sky muttering a prayer to the ancestors, commemorating the moment. "By the approval of the ancestors. Drink from this chalice and become one!"

Zaela drank the blood mingled water first, after which Garrosh did likewise savoring the sharp iron tang in his mouth. There was a moment where nothing happened, all was silent save for the wind rustling through the waist high, light green, tall grass around them. Anyone could tell you Garrosh nor Zaela held any love for Alliance, and especially not human traditions, but looking into one another's eyes, it was as if they had the same thought at once. The two closed the gap between them, kissing to officially end the ceremony, something usually not done in orcish marriages.

Loud cheering was, heard over miles as people roared for the newly mated couple. It was hard not to cheer after such a thing. Garrosh threw back his head and laughed, not caring who or what thought about such a stark contrast from his usual demeanor. Zaela held him close, having not a clue as to what to do with her roiling emotions of excitement and joy inside bubbling from up from everywhere.

The pair clasped hands, still covered in blood, and walked side by side to the fortified town of Garadar where the mating feast was to be held. Behind them, those who had come to witness the mating followed in excited expectation of the feast ahead.

All seemed to have forgotten the Far seer, who remained behind, watching the pair walk slowly. The woman, Zaela, leaned her head on his upper arm while Garrosh strode proudly. He truly believed Garrosh would be a good husband, despite his rather boisterous demeanor, and wished them both many happy years. With all of his attention on the newly weds, he never noticed Jaina walk up until her delicate hand rested in his own.

He turned his head slightly to her. "Garrosh told me what you said when he was caught in his disparity."

"And I meant every word of it." The sorceress replied with a slight smile on her face.

"It's different with us, isn't it?" Thrall asked quizzically. "We are not so volatile as Garrosh and Zaela?"

Jaina shook her head. "No, but we all experience love in different ways, maybe that volatility is what fuels their passion and love."

Just as she spoke the words, a loud female voice rang through the air. "Pig headed buffoon!"

"Why will you not do as I say, stubborn mule of a woman!" Garrosh roared in reply.

Both looked ahead, and found the newly mated couple screaming at one another savagely.

Jaina turned to Thrall and found him with a palm to his face shaking his head slowly. "Not even and hour yet, and their already at It." He mumbled through his hand.

At that, both Far Seer and sorceress couldn't help but laugh.

~8~8~

Late in the night, when the moon was fully risen, and the heavy snoring of feasters was the only noise that could be heard, Garrosh cuddled close to Zaela in the mating house built for newly weds. It was of course the time to officially seal the marriage, but that had already been done weeks before in a blazing rage of their passion and fury. For now, all Garrosh simply wanted to do was talk.

He held Zaela close in his arms whispering what the future might hold. Garrosh loved sharing his hopes and dreams with her, revealing all his wants and fears. "We will finish Orgrimmar and make it stronger than its ever been. The elves of Ashenvale will run in fear as we march upon their forest, burn their homes, and take their children as slaves. All of Azeroth will tremble at the name of the mighty Horde conquerors, lead by Zaela and Garrosh. There will be many battles ahead, and after we our drenched in our enemy's blood we shall feast on the spoils."

She stopped him suddenly by putting a finger to his lips. "All magnificent things Garrosh, but they will have to wait."

His heavy brow furrowed in confusion. "What, why?"

Did she still believe that the Twilight cult was the number one threat against Azeroth? Garrosh knew them to be trouble, but after mating with Zaela, knowing she was his and vice versa, he felt well and able to take down any rabble that dared oppose them.

"They will have to wait because I will not be able to battle by your side." A hand went down to her stomach covered by the thin sheet. "Your child is on the way."

Deathwing himself could have come into the mating house at that moment wearing a pink tutu while riding a unicycle in his dragon form and Garrosh would have never noticed. His eyes, now wide as rune disks, stared at Zaela's stomach. "M-my child…"

Zaela took one of his trembling hands, smiling. "Yes, a daughter to be exact, if what Cozwyn has told me is true."

She hadn't meant to have told him so soon, but being with him made the joy of the news blurt from her heart. There was not a single inkling of worried thought in Zaela that Garrosh would be displeased at the revelation. Even with such a brief time of being so close, she knew him well.

He kissed her suddenly, more deeply and passionate than Zaela had ever felt. Through the whole wondrous minutes, Zaela could tell he was smiling.

When he finally parted his breathing was quick with excitement. "She will be just as stubborn and determined as her mother." He stated quietly, although he wished to shout in joy from the top of the highest hill in Nagrand. He would be a father! Tactfully however he kept his voice to a whisper and settled down against Zaela.

The warrior orcess smiled, placing her head on Garrosh's chest. "And she will have her father's strength."

Garrosh chuckled, placing a hand on Zaela's stomach. He kissed her tenderly on the forehead, his voice as gentle as Zaela had ever heard it. "That she will."

Looking at one another, with more happiness than both had ever known, dancing in their eyes they both said simultaneously: "I love you." And drifted off to sleep.

_FIN_

~8~8~

_A-N: Maybe a bit cheesy at the end but….Woot done! Thanks to Yingyanggirl for sticking with me and reviewing all my chapters, and to all who read and reviewed. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!_ _I am considering starting another story or bringing my other story Child of Destiny back from the writers block grave. Either way, stay looking out for more stories to come!_


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